


Memories of Us

by Gamemakers



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Eating Disorders, F/M, It's not as depressing as it sounds like it might be, Mentions of Suicide, PTSD, Smut, Specific warnings in each chapter, There is quite a lot of fluff in here also, despite the tags, mentions of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 37,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamemakers/pseuds/Gamemakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Odesta oneshots chronicling Finnick and Annie's lives together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sirens Cove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of suicide.

He didn't hear the rock hit the bottom. Finnick peered over the edge, trying in vain to see if he could make out any of the rocky shore below. At this time of night, the cliffs, the beach, and the waves melted into varying shades of dark. He kicked another rock over the edge, not even hoping this time to hear it bounce against the cliff face during its fall.

The fishermen's children had told stories about Sirens Cove for generations. Most of them, those of mermaids and selkies and a dozen other impossible creatures, Finnick knew were nothing more than legend. Others were undeniable facts. The kids who had drowned a few years ago. The early victor who had leapt from this spot to her death. He had once heard that you could still hear her screams, but he understood now that that had been nothing more than the O'Flannagan brothers having a bit of fun with him. Anyone who wanted to die that badly would only be grateful for the single, merciful  _crack_ that lay below.

"Get away from there. We have that fence for a reason." He turned, towards the voice, immediately raising a hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight. "Finnick! What do you think you're doing out there? I figured it was stupid teenagers!"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Well, get back over here! I'll not leave you alone like this."

"I wasn't going to jump."

Rhonda came a few steps closer. "And I never said you were going to. Come on, let's get you inside. A cup of tea and some conversation will do you a world of good."

The chill in the air only hit him as he climbed over the fence that Mags and Rhonda had paid for after what the living victors referred to only as 'the suicide.' Finnick followed Rhonda to her door in silence. He dreaded the conversation that awaited him. The woman wouldn't allow him to escape without a talking-to from her wife, and Mags would not approve of his actions tonight. Rhonda held open the door to the two women's home as she hurried him inside. "Come along, love, the living room's warmer."

"Thanks." More out of habit than conscious thought, he slipped off his shoes before following her.

"Mags? We've got company. I found Finnick out and about."

He heard Mags' cane before he saw her. Finnick looked down at his bare feet to avoid her gaze. He could feel her eyes on him, and his cheeks burned. "What's wrong?" Her words were somewhat garbled, but he understood her perfectly.

"I was out by the cove. Rhonda saw me and told me to come inside."

"He was out past the fence," she added as she pressed a warm mug into his hands. Finnick blew cold air onto the tea before taking a sip of the still-hot liquid, watching as Rhonda helped Mags onto the couch. He saw the smile of gratitude that passed between them, and his heart ached. It had been almost three weeks since his conversation with Snow, almost four since he'd last seen Annie. He missed her so much it physically hurt. He didn't want to eat, or sleep, or do anything but be with her. As he watched Mags and Rhonda, he saw everything he wanted, everything he couldn't have. Yes, the Capitol had once desired Mags, but she'd long since lost her appeal. He couldn't wait another thirty, forty, fifty years to be with Annie. He couldn't wait a  _day._

"You, child, need to figure out what's really important." Mags nodded in agreement. "You can't just sit here, or worse yet up on that god-forsaken cliff, and waste your life away."

"I can't let her get hurt."

"You can't stop it," Mags said. He looked at her questioningly.

It was Rhonda who elaborated. "Finnick, Annie's a victor now. The instant she came out of that Arena, Snow owned her, and you can't change that, none of us can. What you can change is how you approach this."

How did they not understand? "I can't let her get hurt because of me."

"She's a big girl. Treat her like it," said Mags.

Rhonda had always been the gentler of the two women. "You can't make this decision for her, Finnick. The two of you need to talk about this. Right now, you're both hurting yourselves, and none of us want that."

His hands shook around the cup, and he focused on stopping himself from spilling the hot liquid onto his lap. "I… I think I can do that."

Mags smiled and nodded at him, and for once, Finnick felt like he'd done something right. Rhonda looked between the two of them. "I'd like you to stay here tonight. I don't want to be making another trip out to those terrible bluffs tonight."

He'd forgotten what it felt like to feel warm and content as one fell to sleep.

* * *

Finnick woke with the dawn, just as he always had. A victor's life hadn't been enough to break him of the habit. He made his bed and went downstairs quietly, careful not to wake Mags and Rhonda. He needed to talk to Annie today. This couldn't go on any longer. He finger-combed his hair and found his shoes, but before he could slip them on, he heard a soft, hesitant knock on the door.

He knew that Mags and Rhonda were the first stop on the milkman's route, but Finnick hadn't realized that he came so early. He figured he'd say a quick hello to the man, but instead, he found himself looking into a pair of sea-green eyes. "I got a call last night. Rhonda said we should talk."

She'd barely finished her sentence when he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, but she pushed away from him gently. "Finnick, we need to  _talk._ "

"I think I should start with I'm sorry," he said. She nodded, and this time, it was her pulling him down to kiss his cheek.


	2. Ticklish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains an explicit sex scene. Porn without plot.

His hand rests on her waist, over the sliver of pale skin between her shorts and shirt. Their lips move together – not in perfect unison, no, that will only come with time and practice that they haven't had yet.

Finnick smiles against her mouth, and his hand sneaks up into her shirt. She twitches. "Ticklish, huh?" he teases, and the smack he receives in return gives him his answer. He decides he'll find every spot that makes her squirm.

First, he pinches just above her right hip. Annie's knee hits him in the stomach, and the breath is knocked out of him. Mostly, though, he's just grateful she didn't aim any lower.

"You deserved that," she says. Perhaps Annie knows him too well, because before he can say anything, she's answering his question. "No, that wasn't on purpose, but you still got what was coming to you." She kisses his lips. "Off with the shirt, Odair."

He happily complies, promising himself that he'll continue his inspection later on. They do have forever, after all. He doesn't think to be worried that she might not like what she sees until after the garment has been tossed across the room. Finnick wants to cross his arms over his chest, but when he turns back towards her, any insecurities are forgotten. She's lost her clothes as well, and she does nothing to hide herself from him. As he watches, she pushes her dark hair behind her shoulders, fully exposing her chest. It's all he can do to keep his jaw from dropping.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" she asks teasingly.

Finnick's throat goes dry, but he shakes his head. "No, it takes a lot more than that to scare me."

"I don't know – I'm pretty scary." He smiles in agreement, and she pushes him onto his back and climbs on top of him. Her moan as their chests touch is swallowed by his lips. Annie's hands roam across his skin, pinching and tweaking, rubbing and soothing. He basks in her touch, enjoying her closeness. His eyes begin to drift shut from the sensations, but they fly open again when he hears her speak. "Damn it, do you not have any ticklish spots?"

"Is that why you wanted to get me into bed? So you could find my ticklish spots?"

Her green eyes light up. "So, you do have some, then."

"I never said that!" He smiles up at her. "And even if I did have any, I'd never let you find them. That's classified information."

"You wouldn't be able to stop me." She pulls him up for another kiss and begins to undo the fastenings on his pants. Dirty tactics indeed, but Finnick is soon too far gone to say anything. She kisses her way up and down his legs and traces the muscles of his arms with her fingers. Her lips toy with his pulse point as he begs with ragged breath for more. Annie has never been so bold before, and he loves it. Soon, he's bucking up against her, her name the only thing he can gasp out between moans. "Tell me what you want," she demands.

He answers with a groan, and Annie kisses his jawline. "Come on, tell me. I can't make you feel better if I don't know what it is that you want."

"You're evil."

She winks. "And you love it."

Finnick couldn't argue with that. He struggles to control his breathing, Annie making it all the more difficult by occasionally pinching his nipple or planting a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Finally, he finds the words he needs. "Annie, please, let me be inside you."

"We are using our best manners today, aren't we?" She maneuvers herself to hover just above his erection. Her face turns serious as the very tip of him brushed against her thigh. "I love you," she says, gazing into his eyes.

"I love you too." She guides him inside of her, and his hands go to her waist as together, they move her down to accept all of him. Finnick's hips jerk upwards, and Annie throws her head back as she moans. Their movements are uncontrolled, uncoordinated, but they love it. He watches as the muscles of her thighs quiver, straining to keep her upright. Her breasts dance in time with his thrusts, and soon he can feel her tightening around him. When he looks up to her face, sees the pleasure unfolding there, it's all too much.

Before Finnick's entirely aware what's happening, he's joining Annie in completion. For an instant, it's as though any barrier between them has melted away, leaving only the essence of what makes  _Finnick_ to meld with the essential element of  _Annie_ , and as his eyes meet hers, they understand each other completely.

But all too soon, that moment is over. He slips out of her as she moves to cuddle against his side. Finnick kisses her hair, now damp with sweat, and murmurs a soft  _I love you_ against the dark curls. "I love you too," she whispers back. Then, she pulls away just far enough to meet his eyes. "But I also hate you, Odair."

"And why might that be?" He manages to keep his voice even, but inside he's panicking. What did he do wrong? Did he pressure her to do something she didn't want?

She kisses his cheek. "No, nothing like that. I was just certain that I'd find your ticklish spots."

"Well, maybe not everyone has an Achilles' heel."  _Oh no._ Finnick hopes she won't notice his rather unfortunate choice of words.

But he wouldn't have fallen in love with her if she wasn't smart. "Of course not," she agrees, sitting up and trailing her fingers down his legs. "Naturally, the glorious Finnick Odair doesn't have any weaknesses. Why would anyone think that?" Her hand hovers over the spot where his foot meets his ankle, and with a single pinch, all her suspicions are proven true.

For the second time that evening, Annie Cresta turns Finnick Odair into a writhing mess.


	3. Murderous Intent

_"The detective fiddled with his pipe as he thought. On the surface, it appeared that each of them was guilty. The elderly Mr. Parshings had made a great deal of enemies and had no shortage of people who wished him dead. In this case, it must be the method, not the motive, that determined who had committed the heinous act._

_"Young Mr. Parshings, the millionaire's grandson, claimed not to have been in the mansion at the time of the murder, but Cablot thought this unlikely. The maid said she had seen a light in the man's bedroom that evening, and though she had no love for her master, he did not see a motive for her to lie about such a detail. Perhaps Parshing's grandson was innocent and just a victim of coincidence. It seemed too obvious that he should be the murderer, with his grandfather's will read only a week prior. Were someone else to frame the young Mr. Parshings, this would be the ideal time._

_"Cablot shook his head. Something about this case did not add –"_

"What are you reading?" Annie interrupted.

Finnick showed her the cover of the book, but their daughter had a more detailed explanation. "It's about a detective who's trying to solve a murder! He's talked to everybody who was there, the sussects – "

"Suspects," corrected Ronan, who was sitting on the other side of Finnick.

Maggie stuck out her tongue at her older brother. "But nobody wants to admit they killed the old man. I think it was his grandson because he wanted to steal all his money."

Annie's eyebrows rose, and she turned towards Finnick. "And is this an appropriate book for six and seven year olds?"

"Err, yes? Is that the correct answer?" Finnick gave her his most charming smile. It was usually enough to get him out of trouble, and tonight was no exception.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Can I sit with you guys? The story sounds interesting." Maggie scooched onto Finnick's lap so that her mother could fit onto the couch with them. Annie tucked herself into the spot and cuddled against this portion of her family.

"Did you manage to get Dylan to fall asleep?" Finnick asked.

Annie nodded. "Yes, finally." She looked at Ronan. "You, young man, need to be quieter tonight when you go to bed. No waking your brother up."

The boy nodded. "Okay," he agreed. Ronan took his responsibility to be a good big brother very seriously.

"Thank you. I just don't want another fit like last night," Annie said. She leaned over Finnick and Maggie to plant a kiss on her older son's forehead before resting her head on Finnick's shoulder.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but that's my page-flipping arm," he said.

Annie batted her eyes up at him. "I'm sure you'll be able to work around it."

Finnick sighed. "I never win with you, do I?"

His wife laughed, but the children were impatient to start reading again. "C'mon, I want to know what happened!" Maggie whined.

Finnick looked back down at the page. "Okay, where were we?" he skimmed through a few paragraphs before he found a section that seemed unfamiliar. "Ah, found it!"

" _Cablot shook his head. Something about this case did not add up. Surely, the killer must have made some mistake, but Cablot could not find that clue among the web of lies that had been spun around Mr. Parshing's death. He sighed and put out his pipe. He needed more information if he was going to crack this case. Perhaps it was time for another chat with the gardener._

_"He found the man weeding the extensive rose garden. 'Good day, sir,' Cablot said. "Might I have a word with you?'_

_"The gardener jumped at the sound of his voice. He clutched his hand to his heart when he saw that it was merely Cablot. 'You gave me a fright, you did,' he said, shakily rising to his feet. 'I've been jumping at shadows all day. This murder has us all on edge, I suppose.'_

_"'Indeed,' agreed Cablot. 'Tell me, do you have a minute to discuss your master's unfortunate end? I do believe that I am close to finding the murderer.'_

_"'Any way I can help, sir. I'd be more than happy to.' The two men moved to the garden furniture to continue their discussion. McAbbot, the gardener, described Mr. Parshing as a stern but fair master, unwilling to suffer fools, but appreciative of good work. The other servants had seen Mr. Parshing as overly harsh and demanding, but Cablot did not reveal that to the gardener. Also, he had learned from the head maid that Parshing and McAbbot had argued hardly two weeks before on the matter of McAbbot's wages. Interesting that the gardener chose not to bring up that row."_

"Oh dear, it's well past bedtime," Annie said. "Come along, you two, let's get teeth brushed and pajamas on."

Her suggestion was met with resistance. "Mom, I want to finish the story! I need to know who did it," complained Ronan. Maggie probably would have asked to finish the book as well, but she was already asleep.

"No arguments. We'll read some more tomorrow." Finnick scooped Maggie up and carried her to her bedroom. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

He met Annie back downstairs. "Fancy seeing you here." He leaned down to kiss her.

Annie lifted herself onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I think they're liking the book," she said once they separated.

"I'm enjoying it too. I'm excited to see who actually killed him."

"I know what we could do this evening." Annie's voice was low and seductive. She pressed her body flush against his and began to kiss his neck.

Finnick smiled. "I like the way you think." He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Good, so you do want to finish the book." She laughed at his disappointed expression.

"You're a cruel woman, Annie Odair, but I can't complain. I really do want to find out what happened." Finnick went to grab the book, and they settled onto the couch together, Annie on his lap as they read silently.

"So it was the grandson," Finnick said once they were finished.

"Maggie will be pleased. We'll have to act like we didn't finish it without them. Can you show me your best surprised face?" Finnick opened his mouth and eyes as wide as he could and pressed his hands to his cheeks. She laughed. "That might be a bit much, but it's cute."

Finnick smiled at her. "I'm always cute."

"And modest." Annie pulled him down for a kiss. "So, about your other idea for this evening …"

"I think we can work that into the schedule," Finnick said. He pulled her into his arms and carried her, bridal style, to their bedroom. Annie tried to stay quiet, as to not wake up Dylan, but she couldn't help it that a few giggles escaped.


	4. Three Times

_One._

Annie considered the two shells for a long moment before setting one aside. Carefully, she set the other on the very peak of the mountain of sand before her. "There. Now it's a mansion." She wiped her hands on the front of her sundress and took a step back to admire their masterpiece.

"With that shell, it's taller than you," Finnick said. He measured the height of their sand mansion with his hand, moving it to hover above her head.

Annie giggled at the obvious height difference between their mansion and his hand. "It's not that tall. That's bigger than you." She looked up at it again. "A lot bigger than you."

Finnick shrugged. "It's still taller than you. How much doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it does, but I don't care too much. Come on, help me decorate it. I'm not going to live in an ugly mansion."

Together, they scoured the beach for seaweed, bits of shells, and smooth rocks, anything that could make their creation even more beautiful, wading further out in search of unbroken shells than they were allowed to go by themselves. Annie clung to his hand as one wave crashed against her stomach, sending her tumbling back a step. He didn't let go. She pulled the soaked material away from her skin, frowning when it clung to her again the instant she let go. "I think we have enough now," Annie said. She tugged on his hand, and he allowed her to lead him back to shore.

She sorted the pretty bits of pink shell from the other treasures they had found and began to press them into the damp sand. Finnick draped long strands of seaweed over the structure. "I think this is going to be my room," he said, pointing to a point near the top."

"No, this is my mansion. We can make yours tomorrow."

"But I'm going to live in the same one as you!"

Annie looked up from her task. "No, 'cause I'm really going to live in a mansion in the Victors' Village when I grow up."

"Yeah, and you're going to marry me, and we'll live there together."

She barely even had to think before she came to her response. "No."

"Well, not now, 'cause people don't get married when they're six, but when we're older." He had stopped decorating to watch her. "Then you'll want to marry me."

"No, because you didn't ask me first. You don't just get to tell people that they're gonna marry you. That's not how it works." She grabbed another pretty piece of shell. "Come on, I want to finish this before Mom makes me go home."

Finnick didn't move for a long moment, so she poked him. "Okay, I'll help, but tomorrow, can we make mine right next to yours?"

"Fine, but let's hurry."

* * *

_Two._

"What are you doing here?" She meant for it to sound every bit as standoffish as it did. What makes him think he can ignore her for years and then stroll up to her door and knock as if he had never left? Finnick grinned at her, that grin she had always loved, where one side of his mouth pulled up just a little bit further than the other. Annie did her best to stay angry, crossing her arms across her chest and scowling up at him. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

"I thought I'd come over and ask you to marry me."

Damn that boy. It wasn't as though she'd never thought about it, just like every other girl in the district. Hell, ever since she came back from a summer at her grandmother's house out on the islands to find him all tall and golden and gorgeous –  _stop it._ "Excuse me?"

He rested one arm on the doorframe and leaned on it. "I was wondering if you wanted to get married."

"I think I can do better."

She started to close the door on him, but he stopped her. "What about dinner, then?"

"Fuck you." Annie waited for a moment for him to move, and when he didn't, she tried to shut the door on him anyway.

"Is that an invitation?" He winked at her, and she wanted nothing more than to smack that smirk off his smug little face.

He'd tried that same line on half the girls in the district, hadn't he? Annie was painfully aware that he hadn't spared a plain girl like her a glance since he'd won his Games.  _He must have burned his bridges with all the pretty ones_ , she thought, but she didn't say anything.

"So, that's a yes, right?" He smiled down at her, and his voice grew serious. "Annie, I'd really love to see more of you."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice double entendre there. I bet that one works every time."

His lips pursed and he glanced up for an instant. She knew the instant the second meaning dawned on him, as his grin grew and he chuckled. "That is a good one. I'll have to add it to the repertoire." Something about him was different now, more like the Finnick she remembered. "Well, um, if you're sure about dinner then…"

"I am. Have a nice day, Finn."

"Yeah, you too. And I'll see you around sometime?"

"I'm sure you will." She gave him a quick smile before shutting the door. Annie leaned against it for a moment, replaying their reunion over and over again in her mind.

* * *

_Three._

"That one's pretty." She nodded towards the television, where the Girl on Fire modeled a potential wedding dress.

Annie felt Finnick shrug from where he was nestled behind her. "I don't really have an opinion on any of them." Katniss stepped out in a new gown. "Okay, now I do. That one's hideous."

She had to wrinkle her nose at the heavily beaded white gown with sleeves so long that they dragged on the ground. "You, my friend, have excellent taste." Annie glanced up at the clock. There were about twenty minutes left of the broadcast, and then she could call it a night. Thank goodness. Yes, it was still early, but she had gotten up with the sun for a swim, and now –

"Do you want to?"

She belatedly realized that Finnick had been talking to her. "Do I want to what?" she asked.

"Get married."

"Oh." He was terribly still as he waited for her response, and Annie sat up to look down at him. Finnick lifted his eyebrows at her, and he looked so nervous that she couldn't help but giggle. "I'd love to." She felt like she ran a risk of tearing her face if her smile grew any wider.

"Really?" Finnick seemed somewhat in shock that she had agreed.

"Really really." She leaned down a bit, and he leaned up a bit, and they met halfway for a kiss. Annie allowed herself to become lost with him in a world where only the two of them existed, but all too soon, the sound of the anthem pulled her back to reality. Her lips separated from his, and her eyes flicked over to the television.

She froze. This could only mean one thing. Finnick tensed beneath her as President Snow began reading from a beautiful piece of white stationary with only the ugliest words written on it.


	5. Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains some mild violence.

Good to know that Four's Victors don't give a damn about whether he lives or dies in there. Finnick can't quite hide his dismay when he learns that Annie Cresta has been assigned to mentor him. It's okay – Annie's probably not sane enough to recognize his disappointment.

The woman won more out of luck than anything, and she's been Four's resident loon ever since. What business does she have mentoring?

"Do you want to win?" Her eyes have finally focused – first time all evening, he was starting to worry she couldn't even do that – but her words still sound off.

Finnick nods. "Of course. I didn't volunteer to come home in a body bag." But there are six Careers this year, all of whom would probably say the same thing, and only one is walking out alive. And that's assuming one of the outer districts doesn't pull off one of their rare wins. He doesn't let himself think about that.

"Why?" Her voice is flat.

"The money, the house, the Year of Plenty. Seems to me that there are plenty of reasons to win." He shouldn't have to defend this choice, there's nothing to defend. Still, he's starting to get nervous about all of this.

Her eyes have glazed over again, and he's sure that she's lost again. Finnick's given up and has started to help himself to the fresh strawberries that the staff left out for them when she breaks the silence. "You're very handsome."

"Thank you." He hopes that's her attempt at a come-on. She's cute, all dark hair and tan, lean limbs, and not much older than him, either. Finnick's not sure how many more chances he's going to get.

"It will get you lots of sponsors."

Business, then, not pleasure. Pity. "I sure hope so."

"You want to be ugly."

He asks her why, but he doubts she hears him. Though he stays with her, too afraid to be alone now, Finnick has only the occasional train whistle to keep him company.

* * *

This is it. She's done everything she can for him. Annie hates that it wasn't much at all, but there's no time for that now. She clenches her hands into fists during the countdown.

 _Ten._ Finnick's on his podium, not ready to run yet, just scanning the Arena. Good. He'll want to know what he's getting into.

 _Four._ He moves into position. The camera can't resist him, and it settles on his face. Annie can see the muscle in his jaw twitching, but he doesn't look terrified the way some of the other children they've showed have. The Capitol already loves him; he'll be fine.

 _Three._ Her fingernails have broken the skin of her palms, but Annie can't tear her eyes away from the screen. Finnick needs her right now.

 _Two._ They've panned away from Finnick to some poor twelve-year-old that is absolutely shaking on his podium. It's probably the last time the boy's parents will see their child alive.

 _One._ Back to Finnick, the one everyone is betting on. Hopefully, that won't backfire on him.

When the gong goes off, the Arena erupts into action. She forces herself to keep watching as they sprint towards the Cornucopia, but when Finnick tosses a spear and she again sees that skinny little boy, this time looking almost confused by the weapon that's lodged in his chest, she's fourteen again, and she's back  _there_ , and there's blood everywhere. It's all she can do not to scream. Instead, she claps her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut. When she hears the cannons go off, Annie prays that none of them are Finnick, but she does not dare open her eyes to look.


	6. Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of postpartum depression

The baby's crying again. She should go comfort him, just like she should stop thinking him as the baby and start thinking of him as the tiny little Ronan person, but she's a terrible mother, so she doesn't. Instead, Annie tucks her knees a bit closer to her chest and keeps staring out the window. Finnick will take care of him eventually, just as he always does. It's almost high tide now, which means she's been here for hours. The baby's still crying, and though there's a kind of rhythm to his shrieks, it doesn't match those of the waves, and she wants it to stop and leave her alone to listen.

"Shh, shh." Compared to Finnick, she looks like an even worse parent. "Hey, little guy, what's wrong?" Pause for scooping the baby out of the crib, little wet noises for kisses. They'd agreed before the birth that she would stay home for a few months, maybe a year, to do those kinds of things, but eleven weeks in, he still hadn't set foot on a fishing boat. "Hungry, huh? Let's see if we can find Mommy."

She turns on her smile as they come into the room, and Finnick beams back at her. They say that new mothers have a kind of glow around them, and maybe he's soaked hers up, because even though there are seemingly permanent dark circles under his eyes, he's been radiant since the moment Ronan came home from the hospital. "He's inherited his father's love of mid-afternoon snacks, I see," she says as she unsnaps her top and Finnick passes her the baby.

Finnick laughs and sits down next to her. "You're okay?" he asks, putting an arm around her shoulder.

Annie looks down at their son and thinks for a moment before nodding. "I think I'm getting there."

"I know you heard him earlier."  _And you didn't do anything._ She can fill in the accusation herself.

"I knew you were going to get him."

He lets those words hang in the air between them for a minute, and they're cold and callous and indifferent and not at all what she wants to be. Annie can't bear to look at him, so she focuses Ronan's face. His hair already looks like Finnick's, and his eyes have settled to the same shade of green as Finnick's as well. If the baby has any luck, he got his father's mind too, because hers will just fall apart on him.

"Why don't you just come out and say that I'm a horrible mother?" She didn't realize she was going to say it until the words were already out of her mouth.

Finnick looks at her, stunned. "I –"

"We both know it's true, so why don't you tell me to call Dr. Aurelius or see if I can't find someone else who will help me do better? No, since that won't work, why don't you just tell me to go away and leave you and Ronan? You'd be happier without me." Now that she's started, she can't seem to stop. The baby's far too young to be able to understand what's being said, but she still feels bad admitting her real feelings in front of him.

"I didn't want to make it seem like I didn't like taking care of Ronan."

Already, her anger's almost gone. She's too tired to feel much of anything these days. "It's fine."

"No, it's not, and we need to do better." Annie raises an eyebrow and stares at him. "And yes, I do mean both of us. We need to get the help that our family needs to stay functioning."

She has to wonder how they got so bad that merely functioning is a goal to aspire to.


	7. Sea Glass

Finnick Odair does not read etiquette books. He doesn't have to; he was born with enough natural charm that he can breeze through any situation without offending anyone, no matter how flagrantly he disregards society's rules. Being the Most Beautiful Man in Panem certainly helps.

But there are exceptions, and one of them finds him tucked away in the corner of the Capitol's largest bookstore flipping through  _Aelia Streely's Guide to Giving._  He's too large for his hiding spot, and his knees almost touch his chest as he sits and reads, but Finnick doesn't care. He won't allow the paparazzi to catch him looking through this particular book, and they won't find him here. That's enough for him.

Finishing one page, he flips on to the next. Apparently, it is considered impolite to purchase a wig for a woman if not married to her, and even then, one should proceed with caution. He quickly moves on to the next section. Annie doesn't really seem like a wig kind of girl.

Forty minutes later, he's turned down each and every one of the book's ideas. Most are too frivolous – Annie doesn't need candlesticks with gems on them or a jacket with ruby buttons. Others are too intimate. Some are just plain stupid.

_Well, what were you expecting? They don't have chapters on what to buy for child murderer prostitutes that are too afraid to talk to someone they mentored through a fight to the death who might be the love of their life. That title wouldn't fit on the page very well, now would it?_

Finally ready to admit defeat, he wriggles his way out of the corner and sets the book back in its place on the shelf. Finnick grins at the cameras as he leaves for his next appointment. He knows he shouldn't, but that night, he dreams that it is Annie that lies beneath him.

* * *

 

The rock makes a satisfying splash as it hits the water. He picks up another one, barely glancing at it before tossing it into the waves as well.  _Oh._ Finnick rolls up his pants and kicks off his sandals before wading into the area where the rock landed. After a few muttered curses, a very wet shirt, and several minutes of looking, he finally finds it. He smiles as he turns it over in his hand. Though it once must have been part of a green bottle, the waves have dulled its sharp edges and muted its colors.  _Perfect._ He tucks the piece of sea glass into his pocket for later.

With a quick shine, he and the glass are ready. Finnick takes a deep breath and checks his appearance in the mirror once more before he sets out. As he nears her door, he realizes just how not ready he is for this moment. His breath comes in shallow pants and his heart races. Her present grows sweaty and warm tucked inside his fist. Still, he forces himself to ring the doorbell.

The knob turns, and he can just make out a mess of dark hair. Then, his stomach heaves. Terrified, he sprints away from the door, running away from her, away from himself, away from _everything._ He only stops once he reaches the beach, where there's nowhere left to run. Finnick can't escape himself, but he can sit and cry, not realizing that he dropped his little piece of sea glass somewhere along his path.

The Capitol's Finnick can navigate the most complex situations, but the one they've broken sobs, wishing he knew how to handle the only one that's important to him.


	8. Shoes, Scuffles, and Scouts

Finnick rearranged the worn fabric on his right shoe, trying to hide the large hole that had probably formed with his oldest brother and been made worse by three other Odair boys before the gray shoes had found their way to him. Eventually, he gave up and slipped his shoes into his backpack. The first day of school was going to be bad enough anyway; he didn't need to be made fun of for his hand me down shoes.

Last year, at least Hannigan had been in the same school. Now, though, the second-youngest Odair child was twelve and would have to go to the school for Reaping age children. Finnick didn't want to be old enough for the Reaping, but he did wish that Hannigan still went to his school.

He couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Finnick took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and strode confidently onto the schoolyard. After a few steps, he gave up on trying to be cool and hurried to the door. The teachers hadn't unlocked the doors yet, but a group of enthusiastic students had gathered in front of them. He was jealous and a little bit wary of anyone who actually wanted to come to school.

Suddenly, Finnick fell forwards onto the cement. He could feel his skin drag against the rough ground, and when he examined his hand, he found a long, dirty scrape. "You need to say sorry," said a high voice that obviously belonged to another child.

"Why, pipsqueak? Are you gonna make me?" Finnick turned in time to see a little girl with her dark hair in neat ponytails punch a much bigger boy on the nose. He jumped up to stop the bully before he could strike the girl, wrestling him down to the ground.

"Say you're sorry," the girl repeated.

The boy just lay there and glared at her. Finnick pressed down harder so that he couldn't get up. Annie repeated herself. Finally, the boy gave in. "Sorry," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"Apology accepted," Finnick said. He helped the other boy up.

"See, I could make you," the girl said, spinning on her heel away from them. The school bell rang, and Finnick hurried his way to his second grade classroom.

* * *

 

The day went better than he had expected. His teacher seemed nice, and two of the boys whose fathers worked with Dad were in his class. Except for the scrape and his shoes, everything was all right.

All that ended just as class was dismissed. "Finnick, you're expected in the principal's office," said Ms. Jameson. Finnick felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. One of the other students must have tattled to the teachers about what had happened that morning. His mom would be so angry when she found out Finnick hadn't even made it through the first day without getting in trouble.

When he opened the door to the office, he became even more concerned. The little girl from earlier was already seated, her big green eyes wide with fear. The principal sat at her desk, and next to her was the biggest man Finnick had ever seen. He wasn't sure if it was the stranger's overly straight, almost military posture, or the bulging muscles in his arms, but something about this man suggested that he knew how to hurt people.  _Please don't be a Peacekeeper_ , thought Finnick. This man wasn't wearing the usual white uniform, but even Peacekeepers had to take off their armor sometime, right? Maybe he was here to punish them for fighting. Hitting people was against the law for adults, and Finnick had attended the public executions for criminals before. Was seven too little to be shot?

"Please, Finnick, take a seat." He followed the principal's instructions, hoping that if he showed the man how well he could behave, he wouldn't get in too much trouble. For good measure, Finnick smiled at them, showing off the gap where his front teeth hadn't yet come in. "Your little fistfight this morning has come to my attention."

Finnick fought the urge to lie, to tell the principal that he didn't know anything about a fight. "Ian hit Finnick first," the girl interjected. "I just wanted him to say sorry, but I had to hit him before he would."

"Annie, we aren't looking for excuses," explained the principal. "Now, I certainly don't want to encourage this kind of misbehavior, but Mr. Martin here is interested in offering the two of you a wonderful opportunity because of how you handled Ian."

The man smiled and leaned down so that he was closer to the two children's eye level. "How would you like to be very rich when you grow up?" he asked.

"How?" was the only response Finnick could think of. He would love to be rich and eat as much bread as he wanted and never have to wear shoes with holes again.

Annie nodded. "Yeah, I want to be rich!"

"Did you know that I can help you train so that someday, when you're eighteen, you can win the Hunger Games and come live in the Victors' Village?"

"Mommy says I shouldn't want to be in the Games," Finnick said. Lucy Odair always worried the weeks before the Reaping, hoping and praying that the boy picked would not be one of her sons.

The man laughed. "She's right. Nobody should want to go into the Arena untrained. But that's what I'm offering you. You would learn from all the people in Four who have won, work hard to become the best tribute possible, and you will win." Mr. Martin's enthusiasm was infectious. Finnick soon found himself nodding along, agreeing to train so that someday he could win and make his family rich. "How does that sound?"

"Great!" Annie was practically bouncing up and down in her seat. Finnick smiled and nodded. He wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Fantastic. Now, I want you two to walk home and ask your parents about becoming Careers. Tell them that we won't ask for any payment of any kind to train you, and let them know that they can always come by and talk to me if they have any questions." The man handed Finnick and Annie little cards of paper with writing on them. Finnick could read the capital _M_  and  _C_ , and he knew the little  _i_  and  _n_  because you need those letters to spell Finnick, but he didn't remember any of the other letters. He would need to ask Mom or Hannigan to read it to him.

"Thank you Mr. Martin!" he said. Annie echoed him, and they walked outside together. "Are you excited to be in the Hunger Games?" he asked the girl.

"Yeah, it sounds cool!" she said. "Do you think they'll let us eat fish and bread for dinner in the Victors' Village?"

"I hope so! That sounds yummy. Maybe they'll even let us have sugar like on the sweet rolls too!" Finnick answered. Annie laughed, and she reached out to take his hand. They walked home together hand in hand. Finnick couldn't wait to tell Mommy about Mr. Martin and training.


	9. By Post

_Finnick,_

_We miss you here in Four. I'm already counting the days until you're back again. Not that I don't always do that anyway. Our house, the entire district, everywhere feels a little bit empty without you._

_When it's bad, I want you to remember a day from when we were just children, when there were games and not Games. It wasn't a particularly special day. It felt like summer, though I think it was in the spring. The sun was shining and the sea was calm. You wanted to come out and play, but your mother made you stay inside all morning to catch up on schoolwork. But the instant you were done, you sprinted down to the beach. We made sand castles that we crowned with sea stars and waded in the shallows. I didn't care that the sand in my hair made it itch; I was having too much fun with you to mind. Together, we laughed and played until sunset, when you were again called in. You kissed me goodnight, and I kissed you back. We couldn't have been more than seven or eight, but I know you meant it all the same._

_I said it wasn't a special day. I lied. We spent it together, and that's enough to make any day very special indeed. I hope you remember that._

_But most of all, I hope you're all right. I look forward to seeing you again very soon. Stay strong, love. I know you can._

_Love,_

_Annie_

She kissed the stiff white paper a few times before folding it up and slipping it into his suitcase. He'd know that it had been written before he left, of course, but he'd also know that everything in it was true.

* * *

He dug through the suitcase, searching for the seashell necklace he always kept tucked inside when he needed to remember why he was here, why he allowed these animals to touch him. He found it tucked into one of the side pockets, and when he pulled it out, something else flew out with it and landed next to his feet.

Finnick smiled when he saw Annie's small, neat handwriting on the front of the envelope. He opened it carefully, not wanting to destroy even one letter of her note. Legs tucked underneath him, he read it again and again. "Thank you, love." He gave the letter a kiss before folding it up again and putting it back in the same pocket to be found another day.


	10. Both Sides Now

"One day, I'm going to volunteer, just like you did." She couldn't get the girl's words out of her head. Katniss had stumbled through her speech, barely able to read the cards Effie had given her, much less deliver something that could truly pacify the district. Every time she looked up, she only saw a sea of bright, innocent blue eyes that wanted to follow in her murderous footsteps.

Katniss was an inch from breaking down in tears before the entire district when Peeta thanked their audience and helped her offstage. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

She wanted to brush him off, to lie and say that everything was fine, but this time, she couldn't push him away. Instead, she nodded, and Peeta pulled her into a hug. "Was it the little girl?"

"How can they do this? They're training her to kill and probably die, and she's happy to do it. It's sick. They're all just sick." She didn't even try to keep the anger out of her voice. These people should know what everyone thought of them. They didn't deserve any better.

"That's quite the introduction. I'm pleased to meet you as well."

She spun away from Peeta and towards the source of the unfamiliar voice, tensing when she saw who it belonged to. "Finnick Odair. What a lovely surprise."

"That's good to hear. I was starting to think you didn't like me. He grinned at her, a smile Katniss knew melted most women's hearts. She resolved that it wasn't going to work on her and glared in return. Finnick pretended not to notice and took another step towards her. "Aren't you glad we cleared up that little misunderstanding?"

"Thrilled."

Peeta glanced between the two of them before clearing his throat. "It's nice to meet you, Finnick." He shook hands with the other man.

"Why are you here?" she demanded.

"Well, love, I thought I'd show the two of you and your mentor the way up to the roof for the banquet."

That seemed innocent enough, but Katniss wasn't ready to accept anything he said. "Where is Haymitch, then?"

"Abernathy could probably sense the champagne from a mile away. He found his own way. Strange, since he hasn't had as many chances to poke around here as I have in Twelve. Maybe not being sick does good things for your sense of direction."

Katniss knew the Peacekeepers wouldn't let her get away with attacking him. "You deserved everything I said."

He shrugged. "As much as I'd love to debate morality with you, I don't want your escort to worry about us if we're late. She seems a little high-strung. Shall we?" He offered her his arm, and she defiantly grabbed Peeta's hand instead. Finnick smiled at the gesture. "You know, I don't bite unless I'm asked to."

Peeta stopped her before she could come up with an insult. "Finnick, we don't want to be late to our own party."

Finnick led them through long, winding hallways, many of which displayed murals depicting the sea. Katniss wondered if he was lost and leading them in circles, but eventually, after climbing yet another flight of stairs, they emerged onto the roof. The sight took her breath away. Beyond a swath of golden sand was the ocean, a sea of turquoise that stretched as far as her eyes could see. "See something you like?" Finnick teased. "Ouch!"

Katniss couldn't pick out individual words from the jumbled speech of the small, elderly woman who had just hit Finnick with her cane, but she understood the meaning behind them. Anyone who could get away with publicly scolding Finnick Odair was worth getting to know. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh, come on, don't encourage her!" Finnick complained. The little old woman pointed meaningfully towards Katniss and Peeta and said something, and Finnick nodded. "Katniss, Peeta, this is Mags. She's pretty much in charge of all of us."

"Nice to meet you," Peeta said, and he shook her hand. Katniss wanted to stay and talk with the woman, but all too soon, the mayor's voice cut through the chatter in the room, calling everyone to their seats. She suffered in silence through the nine-course dinner, trying not to be jealous that Four could afford a feast while children in Twelve starved. A year of plenty meant little here. Still, the mountains of food were delicious, and she ate more than her fill. By the time the ninth course came out, her dress felt tight around her stomach, and she couldn't deny being relieved when the waiter took away her final, but still empty, plate. Katniss just wanted to sit and laze away the rest of the evening, but Peeta nudged her in the side. "Katniss, we've got company." She turned to see Finnick returning, followed by a lovely, dark-haired young woman. Katniss couldn't keep the disappointment off her face. "Try to play nice, okay?" Peeta asked.

"We came back for our debate. This is Annie Cresta." The woman waved at them, and Katniss smiled back. "May we?" Finnick asked, gesturing to the chair next to her.

Peeta nodded, and the two sat down next to each other. "I thought you were joking about us having a debate," Peeta said.

Finally, Annie spoke. "It is hard to tell with him, isn't it?"

Katniss nodded.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to him eventually." Annie smiled up at Finnick, who grinned back at her. Their hands met, fingers intertwining, and Katniss wondered if she'd misjudged Finnick Odair.


	11. Shower Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut.

It takes her a second to realize what it is she's watching, but even after she does, Annie doesn't think to look away. His body is blurred by the frosted glass of the shower door, but there is no mistaking the pumping of his hand. She's never seen him do this before. Annie wishes the glass between them would disappear so she could catalogue the differences between how she touches him and she touches himself. It is so easy to imagine the water beating down against his neck and shoulders before tracing the contours of his chest and down towards…

Finnick moans, and Annie is torn away from her fantasy. Only then does she realize that he probably hasn't yet noticed her presence. He has his head turned away from her, allowing the water to hit his cheek, and with the noise of their beast of a shower all around him, it would have been more if surprising if he had heard her come in. The thought makes her sick to her stomach. She's no better than any of them. No, she's worse, because he trusts her, and all she does is go and betray him.

Annie wants nothing more than to take the coward's way out, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened, but that wouldn't be honest. "Finnick?"

Immediately, his hand drops to his side, and he swivels towards her so quickly that she's certain he's going to fall. He opens the shower door just enough to pop his head out. "Sorry about that. Give me just a sec to clean up, and I'll be right out." Though his tone is even, it's impossible to miss the flush that extends from his neck all the way up to his temples.

"You don't have to stop for me." This is her chance, she'd better grab it. "I-I'd like to watch, if it's okay." Did that sound too pushy? She doesn't want to pressure him into anything he isn't comfortable with. "Or I'll just wait for you to be done, if that's better."

He thinks it over for a moment before opening the shower door a bit further. "Come on, you're not going to be able to see much from over there."

She moves to lean against the vanity. He's right – the view is much better from this angle. Finnick only lightly strokes himself as he waits for her to get settled, and once he sees that she's ready, his motions become more pronounced. Annie wants to drink in the sight. The shower is still on, and the steam drifts out around his body, providing the perfect, misty backdrop. Finnick alternates between keeping his eyes locked on hers and closing his eyes and tilting his head back when something feels particularly good. She knows much of it is a show for her benefit – his motions are exaggerated from what they were before, and his reactions are more extreme than when they are together, but that only adds to the appeal. When she murmurs encouragement, Finnick grins out at her and speeds up, moaning and groaning along with the motion of his hand and hips. The desire she feels curling through her abdomen is delicious, and Annie considers hitching up her nightgown and fingering herself, but she decides against it. Any distraction from this show is a sin.

He's close. Finnick's given up on the performance now. His eyes are shut tight, and he bites down his lower lip during those last few powerful strokes. Annie can't help but lean in, holding her breath until…  _there._ His jaw tenses as he orgasms, and it's so strange to see the expression she's so familiar with from so far away, but it leaves her entire body tingling.

Finnick takes a few shuddering breaths before he opens his eyes again to smile at her. "C'mon, Annie, don't be a stranger." Add a wink on the end, and she's melting.

It's two steps from where she was sitting to the shower, and after the first, Finnick grabs her wrist and pulls her in, nightgown and all. Immediately, her clothes are plastered against her skin, and Finnick wastes no time in pulling her up against him. Annie drags him down for a long, open-mouthed kiss. She enjoys the varying textures of skin she can feel under her fingers. Where the water hits him, it is soft and smooth, with just a bit more slip than she is used to, and goosebumps dot his arms and chest, where she blocks the stream. With a moan against her lips, Finnick begins his own explorations: cupping her bottom, trailing up her spine, pushing the curtain of hair away from her face. The combination of the steady stream of warm water pounding against her back and Finnick's lips and wandering hands is almost too much to handle. When they finally separate – not far from one another, their lips still only a whisper apart, she has reached the limits of her patience. "Finnick, no teasing."

"Not even a little bit?" His hand starts to creep up towards her breast, and she doesn't have the heart to swat it away.

"None. I need this now."

He's toying with her nipple now, and her attempt to frown up at him is spoiled by a moan he coaxes out of her. Damn this man. Finnick shakes his head. "You're no fun."

"Really? It seems like you're having a lot of fun right now." Good, she'd managed to sound curt. He deserves it.

He tugs the nightgown over her head and tosses the soggy fabric over the shower door. Annie hears the  _splat_ of the wet cloth hitting the ground, but now that they're kissing again and his hand is so close to where she wants it, she can't bring herself to care about the puddle they'll have to clean up later.

Her knees buckle when he finally brushes against her clit, and not for the first time, Annie wants to commend whoever it was that came up with non-slip shower mats. Finnick wraps an arm around her waist. "No falling down on me." She frowns up at him, but his smile is infectious. "Come on now." He turns her so that she faces the showerhead and her back is against his front. As soon as she's settled into the new position, he resumes his ministrations, this time rougher and faster against her clit. She wraps her arms around him from behind and relies on him to keep her upright because she can't be bothered to keep her legs straight when he's doing such clever things with his hand.

A part of Annie wants to make it last, but she was already so wired from watching Finnick earlier that she knows that's not a real possibility. His constant kisses against her temple and whispered encouragement aren't helping her last any longer. It takes only a brief few minutes for Finnick to turn her into a moaning mess, and even when she comes down from that high, she doesn't want it to end.

Her first sensible thought afterwards is how freezing cold it's gotten in here. How did she not notice that the water had turned icy?

Teamwork is her turning off the water while he grabs a towel from the rack to wrap around both of them. Annie kisses his chest as she snuggles close. Yes, she has a busy day ahead of her, and yes, she should have been ready to go twenty minutes ago, but there's no reason everything can't wait a few minutes more.


	12. Weighed Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible eating disorder triggers.

He's been eyeing the scale for weeks now. Finnick doesn't like it, never has, he hated it when they used to measure him every time he went back to the Capitol to see if there was any tweaking that needed to be done on his diet and exercise regimen, but there it is, watching him, almost waiting for that moment when he'll break down and step on. Annie's been keeping it out since Maggie was born as part of her effort to lose the baby weight. She says it's doing her good, and Finnick doesn't question that. To him, she always looks radiantly beautiful. He's the one that needs to be worried.

There's nothing special about today, no reason his weight should matter more now than it does any other time, but still, Finnick checks that the bathroom door is shut before he climbs onto it. This moment is always the worst, when the digital numbers stutter between one weight and another before they arrive at their final verdict. Finnick hates it, so he closes his eyes and doesn't open them until he's certain it's finished.

Two fifteen. Damn it. He does the mental math. That's thirty, no, thirty-five more than he's ever clocked in at before. Damn. And Annie spent good money on this thing, so he can't even dismiss it as a fluke.

There's nobody there to see it, but his cheeks flame. He knew that his abs were less obvious than they had been a few years ago; that was hard to miss, but now, studying himself in the mirror, he sees other, less obvious signs he's missed. His shoulders are no less broad, but much of the tapering from them to his hips has disappeared. Everywhere, what were once sharp angles have been replaced by softer curves. He can't resist running a hand down his chest and stomach, watching skin and fat glide along with his fingers in a way they never would have before. This isn't how he's supposed to look. Finnick Odair, dubbed Panem's Sexiest Man three years in a row, letting himself go? A waste if there ever was one.

But yet, since he's useless, he's allowed it to happen. Finnick can hear the escorts' scolding _now Finnick, nobody will like you anymore if you let yourself get fat_ and the dietitian and trainer already coming up with something new.

Finnick's still standing there, eyeing his reflection, when he hears the doorknob twist and the door begin to open. He hurries off the scale, tripping over his own feet in the process, and he has to grab the towel rod for support. "Finnick?" Annie's voice is sleepy, and she's still dressed in his old undershirt that she uses as a nightgown. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lies. Fuck, where's his shirt? Over there, next to the door. Could today get any better? Maybe he can grab it without seeming suspicious…

She frowns at him. "You don't look like you're fine."

That hurts. Finnick fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest to hide himself from her. "Just a bit tired is all." Now, he doesn't care if she's going to worry about him – he needs his shirt. He loves her, absolutely and forever, and he trusts her with his life and more, but right now…

"Finnick, if you need to be alone, all you need to do is ask. I didn't realize you were in here – I thought maybe you were already out on the boats. I can shower later."

Now that his shirt's on, the world seems more manageable. He turns on the persona that served him so well for years. Brilliant smile – thank goodness he hasn't lost that with his weight gain – give her a wink, and she'll fall for you in seconds. "Yeah, I was just on my way out." No little innuendo tacked onto the end this time – he needs  _out_ , not to stay for longer.

But even his most convincing acts have never fooled Annie. "Your hair's not wet, and the mirror's not fogged up, so you haven't showered yet. What's really bothering you, Finn?" She's the only one allowed to call him that, and usually, it's comfortable, because he's her Finn and she's his Ann and that's just how the world is supposed to be, but this morning, the nickname is only another reminder of  _them_. Annie reaches out to touch his shoulder, and for the first time in years, Finnick finds himself tensing at the contact. "Nightmare?"

"No." At least that's the truth.

She pauses for a moment. "You know that I love you no matter what you look like, right?"

His breath catches, and he's not sure how to respond. When he meets her eyes, there's no doubt in his mind that she means every word she says. Annie moves a little closer to him, not quite enough that their torsos touch, but close enough that he can feel her nightshirt soft against his skin. "And I, and everyone else in their right mind, still think you're sexy as hell."

That earns a snort of laughter. Annie's never sworn often, and since Ronan's birth a year and a half ago, he's not sure he's heard anything stronger than a few goshes and darns from her. There's mischief written all over her face when she gets up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Way to say thank you."

She squeals when he picks her up and kisses her. It's warm and loving enough to not be spoiled by two cases of morning breath. "Will that suffice?" Finnick asks as he sets her back down.

"In a pinch, I suppose." There's a lovely flush to her cheeks, and his hand hasn't moved away from her bottom, and he wonders if she wants something more. But no, they've talked about this dozens of times. Sex isn't payment for a compliment or a requirement of any sort. If he's going to feel broken afterwards, she's not interested.

Finnick smiles at her before leaning down for another kiss. "Should we find some breakfast?"

"Sounds great."

"Mind if I steal some of that nasty-looking crud you've been eating lately?"

"Of course not. Misery loves company."

Finnick had been certain she'd exaggerated the blandness of the new Capitol diet breakfast food, but as soon as he takes his first bite, he has to agree that misery is an apt description.


	13. Underground

"It's getting late." That sounded more like a question than a statement.

Finnick nodded. "Yeah."

"Why haven't they turned the lights out yet, then?" Finally, he understood Annie's worry. Thirteen wasn't the type of place to ignore its own rules. "Are the hall lights on?" Maybe it was just their apartment.

He got up to try the door. Locked. That shouldn't make his heart race; Thirteen always locked their doors at night. Or maybe it was just his and Annie's – he'd never thought to ask anyone else. Finnick wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. "I'll turn off our light. We'll be able to see if the hall's is still on." Thank goodness Annie was still thinking for the two of them. He'd never managed to puzzle out how he'd survived his first nineteen years without her.

Finnick found himself so caught up in his thoughts that he jumped when the room went black. "Don't worry. You're fine." The sliver of orange-tinged light that shone through from the hall allowed him to just make out her figure. "At least it's not just us."

"Yeah. No idea what that could mean, though. If they were worried about anything happening, they would have sent us to the bomb shelters."

"Nothing to be worried about, Finnick."

"Did I say I was worried?"

"Do you think I can't read your mind?" He could hear Annie's smile. "We'll wait. Either something'll happen or it won't. Nothing we can do about it."

She's right. No reason to be anxious. Better yet…

He checked that she hadn't moved from where she sat, cross-legged on the mattress, before collapsing next to her. Like everything in Thirteen, the bed was designed more for utility than comfort, and was certainly nothing like the down-soft mattress they had in Four, but the aching back he'd have in the morning was more than worth her laughter and half-hearted scolding.

* * *

By his estimation, it was two hours later that a knock came at the door. Knowing he couldn't answer, Finnick nudged Annie awake and waited for the door to open. "A boat of refugees from Four arrived this evening. If you would like to see them, I'll lead you to the processing center."

Processing center. It didn't sound human. "Give us a moment to get dressed, and we'll be right down." He nodded along with Annie's words.

They pulled on some clothes, and a few minutes later, he and Annie were following a half-step behind the petite officer. Finnick should know the woman's name – he's certain he's seen her before, but he'll blame it on being a little groggy at one in the morning. Funny, before coming to Thirteen, he had never had a problem staying up late or getting up early. This place must be getting to him. Or perhaps married life was already starting to change him. Finnick rather liked the thought of that.

"I didn't think District Thirteen was near the coast," he said, trying to make conversation and snag some extra information. It wasn't a necessary habit here the way it had been in the Capitol, but old habits die hard.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Close enough that we monitor the coastline, but not close enough that you're going to be able to take a dip anytime soon." Was that a real smile from a Thirteen officer? Who would've thought they knew how.

The corridors were empty, and only a few flickering lights kept their small party company. He'd never been into this area of Thirteen before. Or perhaps he had – those first days in the district, when he was still certain he'd lost Annie –

No. He couldn't dwell on those times right now. It was enough to note that he didn't remember his first few days in the district very well. Still, he found himself squeezing Annie's hand that little bit tighter, and she returned the gesture.

He would definitely have remembered being in this room. The ceiling was even higher than that of the hangar, and so large that a hovercraft could easily get lost in a corner somewhere. And it was full. Finnick had assumed that she'd meant a fishing boat full of people, maybe twenty at the most. No, this had to have been one of the tankers that brought in goods from the other coastal districts, because there were hundreds of people milling about. He recognized a few faces – not in any real sense, he certainly couldn't put a name to the faces, but he knew he must have seen them a few times in the market or while watching the Reaping.

Annie tightened her grip on his hand, enough that he wondered if she'd broken the skin. He looked to her, then out at the crowd to see what she'd spotted, and suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old again.

His father would always be a big man. Finnick had wondered, for a while, if maybe it had just been his childhood impression, if every child thought their father was huge, but Mac Odair had to be a good six and a half feet tall and close to two hundred and fifty pounds. Not that that was so different from Finnick himself, but seeing him now, after all these years…

Annie, as always, brought him back to the real world. "We can go back if you want, talk to him some other day," she whispered, just audible above the low din of the room.

When he didn't respond, she started pulling him toward the exit. He would either have to let go of her hand or leave, and that wasn't much of a choice at all. The instant he stepped out of the room, Finnick felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thanks," he said.

Annie shrugged. "You've got years to figure out what you want to do with your dad. No reason to rush anything." She glanced to either side of them, and her face broke out into a naughty grin, like a child left alone with the cookie jar. "And, we're unsupervised in an area of Thirteen that they've never let us anywhere near. There's nothing to stop us from doing a little exploring before we head back."

Someday, he was going to learn how to say no to these plans of hers. But, as she said, he had years to figure that out. For tonight, it was easier to just be dragged along.


	14. Clawing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Anxiety Attacks

So, I'm currently sitting in the bathroom wondering if I'm going to vomit or I'm just having a panic attack. Probably the second one with a little dash of the first. I'm also wondering when my mind tearing itself apart became 'just' a panic attack. It's times like this that make me wonder if I really am as crazy as people think. Because I  _know_ the things I see sometimes when it's really bad, I know those things aren't real. But now, when my heart's pounding and my hands are shaking so badly that I don't know I'll be able to read this later, I'm not so sure.

Finnick's knocking. He says I've been in here forever, that he's really starting to get worried now. If I loved him, I would let him in and lie that I'm fine or let him call Dr. Antonius on my like I know he wants to. I do love him, I'll swear my life on that, but right now… right now he's not quite real. My world consists of the demons that are screaming inside my head and the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl that I'm resting my cheek again because it's hotter than hell in here. I hate that a toilet, not my boyfriend or whatever Finnick is exactly, is my one link to reality.

He's shouting now, and I wonder how long it's been since I came in here. Probably a while, since I didn't pick up his shower ideas journal and start writing in it until I'd been in here for a while, and I've got over a page filled in now. I really should answer him, but I'm a terrible girlfriend, so I keep writing and pretending none of this is real. Maybe he'll break down the door and all the pressure in this room will be let out.

I'm not making any sense now, not even to myself. There are three thin trails of blood running down the side of the toilet, and I know they are mine, or were mine, and they mean that I'm not doing well because I haven't broken the skin with my clawing and scratching in months, but I thought I could hide it. Hiding it never works. Never. I'm moving backwards. Finnick's wrong when he says it takes ten times as long to pull yourself together as it does to fall apart. I cracked in an instant and will spend the rest of my life trying to just sort through the pieces. Anything that I found at the end would be a hodgepodge as full of glue as remnants of the old Annie.

The doorknob is rattling. Finnick sounds scared. I'm going to let him in. I'll force myself to put down this pen and do the right thing for once. If I'm not strong for me now, I won't have anyone to be strong for me later.

You're not real, I know that, but I'll say goodbye to you anyway. As long as I know I'm mad, I'm still in control.


	15. Cycle

Finnick's here, and she can't breathe. Her heart stopped the instant she opened the door, and it's only just started beating again.

He can't understand how long it's been, how many restless nights she's gone through where all she wanted was to reach over to the side of the bed that, twenty years later, is still his and feel something there besides cool sheets. "Hey, Mom." The illusion dissipates as he steps inside.

Gracious, had Finnick really been that tall? Ronan has towered over her for years, but the height difference has never seemed quite as drastic as it does now, when she pulls him down and cranes up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He has shaved the full beard he has sported since he was a teenager, and for the first time, Annie can see Finnick's jaw and cheeks on their child. "So, what caused all this?" she asks as they walk together into the kitchen.

"This?" He strokes his chin and gestures to his newly short hair, and she nods. "Well, you see, there's this girl, and, um…"

A girl he's serious about? He's twenty-one years old, and though she's hardly the most unbiased judge, he's as smart and kind as they come, so she supposes it shouldn't really be a surprise, but oh dear, she's never even considered it before. That in and of itself was a bit silly, as she and Finnick had been, what, nineteen when they had started dating? These days, sometimes it felt that she had never been that age.

Now isn't the time for those musings. "And I suppose she isn't a fan of the wild look?"

"No, I guess she prefers something a bit more clean-cut." He ran his hands through his hair, still unused to its new shorter length. "You've got to meet her, Mom. She's really something."

She's smiling, and there are tears in her eyes that she's keeping there through force of will alone. "That's lovely, dear. You'll have to tell me all about her. Your classes as well – I hope you haven't been neglecting those to chase after her." She guides him into the kitchen and sits him down at the table as she hasn't since he was a child, content, even if it's just for a little while, to have her baby back again.


	16. Metamorphosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains violence and mental illness.

Annie opened her mouth in a silent scream as she clawed through her hair. Long, barely-healed cuts zigzagged their way up her arms, and Annie froze for a moment to admire the beautiful contrast of the scarlet patterns on her porcelain skin. When she bit her lips in concentration, she could taste blood on her lips. Seannan's blood. How could she be so selfish? Seannan would need his blood if he wanted to come home.

 _No, you're mad,_ a small, sane part of her whispered cruelly.  _Seannan's never going to come home. He's dead. You let him die._

Annie let out a choked sob. "No, no! Please be quiet."

The voice did not stop.  _You can lie to yourself, Annie, but you know it's true. Seannan's never coming back. We both watched him die. I think you even enjoyed it._

"No I didn't! I didn't want that!"

_You're mad, Annie Cresta._

She scratched at her ears and temples, desperate to get the other woman out, but the voice never left her, always burrowing a little deeper inside of Annie just as she reached it. The woman continued to whisper to her, repeating the same things over and over so insistently that Annie began to doubt the truth.

Maybe Seannan had died. Maybe she had enjoyed watching Seannan's death. She had volunteered, after all. She must like the thrill of killing, the joy of watching the life dribble out of another and knowning that she had ended them. Her tongue poked out to caress her lips. Yes, she loved the scent, the taste of blood. Surely she could find some more?

Annie gathered her pack and supplies, surprised to find a dozen silver parachutes littering the ground around her. "Thank you, Finnick," she laughed. She stuffed the bandages, food, and water she found inside the canisters into her pack. Her mentor must have sent her these packages while she was talking to her new friend. Finnick obviously approved of her new ally. She trudged into the water with her knife in hand, intent on finding the other tributes.

 _You're mad,_ whispered the woman again. Annie smiled. That thought no longer bothered her.

* * *

"How is she?" Finnick asked as he ran into the room. He was surprised by the silence from his former mentor. "Mags, what's wrong? Is Annie okay?" The old woman turned and gestured him towards the monitor. He smiled at the image of Annie gathering the supplies he had sent her over the last three days. "Mags, this is fantastic! She's better, I know she is."

"I worry about that girl," Mags said.

Finnick turned back to the woman to see tears in her eyes. "Why? She's up again, she's interested in the food we've sent her, and she's going to hunt down the other tributes. I think we might have ourselves another victor." Finnick smiled, but Mags shook her head slowly.

"You didn't hear her earlier." Mags bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying, but a few tears still leaked out of her eyes. "She kept screaming and laughing, talking to nobody. After three days of silence, she was suddenly alive again. It was horrible, Finnick. She was absolutely manic. Then she got up, dusted herself off, and it was as though nothing had ever happened. I don't know what's happened to her, Finnick, but I don't think Annie is really better."

"Mags, it'll be fine. Everyone talks to themselves in the Arena. Yes she was quiet for a few days, but she always kept drinking, so she's at least hydrated. She had a lot to think about, but now she's done and she's ready to win this thing."

"I hope you're right boy, I really do." Mags still looked unconvinced.

Finnick gave her his most charming smile. "I don't need to hope, I know I'm right. I'm going to go find some more sponsors. Keep an eye on Annie?" He kissed her on the forehead before practically bouncing back out of the room. Despite Mags's worries, he knew everything would be all right.

* * *

Annie allowed herself a small smile as she walked towards the heart of the island. She could feel, no she could smell, the other tribute. This was the one she'd been looking for. The boy from Seven had to die for what he'd done to Seannan. Annie gleefully cut through the tall grasses with her sword, anxious for any sign of the boy. He had done well to hide from her for this long. Annie had searched for two days for him, but now she could sense that he was close.

She heard the snap of a tree branch behind her and span to see Amethyst staring at her. Before he could raise his weapon, Annie's knife had buried itself in his chest. She watched his eyes widen as he stumbled. Annie sat down on a patch of soft green clover and waited for Amethyst to stop convulsing. Once the man had gone still and his eyes vacant, she dug the knife out of his chest and licked a long stripe along the blade. Wonderful.

 _You're mad, Annie Cresta,_ the woman whispered again. The cannon blasted, but Annie did not walk away from the corpse. He wasn't the Seven boy, but Amethyst had certainly been a lovely surprise.

"Amethyst, are you all right? Did you find her?" Annie knew that the voice had to come from Luster, but she couldn't determine which direction it was coming from.

She glanced back down at Amethyst's body and immediately wanted to vomit. She'd done that. She had killed the boy who'd been nothing but kind to her and to Seannan. Annie dropped her knife and moved backwards several steps.  _You're a monster,_ the voice whispered gleefully.

"I didn't want to be. I just want it to stop!" she screamed. "Please, please make it stop!"

Maybe the Gamemakers heard her, because the next thing she felt was a crushing pressure against her back. Annie allowed herself to be claimed by the wave, to feel its power forcing her under. For long moments, she considered staying under to kill the voice. Her own death seemed a small price.

But Annie had been born and raised in Four, and the first lesson that was drilled into every child was to keep swimming. She broke the surface and took several deep breaths as she surveyed the Arena. For as far as she could see, there was only open water. The islands had been entirely eaten up by the sea.

She spotted a flash of orange and went to investigate. Luster was floating with the aid of an orange vest, her back to Annie. The voice spoke again.  _Just two more, just her and the boy from Seven, and we can go home. It won't be hard, will it Annie? We've done this before._

"No, I don't want to." Luster turned towards her. Annie felt her heart stop as the other woman reached for a throwing knife. She dove back underneath the water just before the blade hit her. Annie swam towards the other woman's legs and pulled Luster down underneath the waves. The two women met each other's eyes as Annie held Luster's wrists still. Unable to cut or stab Annie, Luster was helpless. Her eyes narrowed at Annie before her body went limp. She only released the other woman when she heard the sound of cannonfire.

Annie gulped in air as she came back up. Only one more to –

"I would like to introduce, ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the seventieth annual Hunger Games, Annie Cresta!" a voice boomed.

Annie looked up to see a huge black hovercraft looming above her with its claw extended. She screamed and thrashed as the iron grip locked itself around her, pulling her up into the hovercraft's gaping mouth to be devoured.  _You're mad, Annie Cresta,_ the voice whispered again. Annie watched in horror as the men came towards her, needles in hand, to put her down like the animal she was.


	17. An Unexpected Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suggestions of rape

Annie hummed a happy tune to herself as she unlocked Finnick's front door. Finnick had asked her to watch over his garden while he was in the Capitol, so every day for the last two weeks, she had come over to water his flowers. After so many weeks of being coddled following her Games, it was refreshing to be treated as an adult again, even if it was just watching over a few plants.

She had almost filled the watering can when she heard a noise from upstairs, a shrill animal shriek that shocked her into dropping the watering can. Annie frowned. She had closed the windows herself a few days before, but somehow an animal must have gotten in. Glancing around the kitchen, she found a broom, which she grabbed and brought with her upstairs. It certainly wasn't an ideal weapon, but she was sure it would be enough to fend off a raccoon or another small animal.

Annie stood on the top landing, waiting for another sound that would tell her which room to search. She heard a bang from Finnick's room. She tiptoed to the door, counting to three silently before opening it. Annie hadn't expected the animal to be nearly that big. She hit it as hard as she could with the broom and screamed.

"Ouch!" the figure yelped. Annie immediately dropped the broom.

"Finnick! I'm so sorry. Are you all right?" She was mortified to see an enormous purple bruise across the left side of his face. Surely she hadn't hit him that hard? "Come on, I'll get you some ice to put on that."

Finnick shook his head, not moving from his spot on the floor. "No, never mind. Those have been there for a while. I'll be fine." Despite his words, Annie could see that her friend was suffering. She sat down next to him.

"What happened? Did you get mugged?"

He paused for a moment too long before answering. "Yeah. They might have gotten one punch in, but you should see him now." He grinned at her. Annie smiled back, but she knew there was something Finnick wasn't telling her.

"If you don't want any ice, would you care for some lemonade?" She wanted to do anything she could to make him feel better.

"That sounds fantastic." Annie poured him a tall glass of lemonade and set it in front of him. Finnick nursed his cup for several long minutes, during which neither of them spoke. Annie stayed with him for the next few hours, but as darkness began to fall, she excused herself. Her mother might call the Capitol doctors again if she was out too long.

On her way home, she thought about Finnick and his bruise. Annie knew something more had happened than Finnick was willing to tell her, but she would not press him for more information. When he was ready, he would reach out. They were all broken, after all. Some of them just hid it better.


	18. Reflections of Yesterday

“All I want is what’s best for him.” The little man across from her seems confused, so she tries to explain herself. “There’s a tiny person inside of me, and sometimes it seems he’s making all my decisions for me.” It sounds childish, even to her own ears. “But I never want him to leave me.” Annie doesn’t want to sound defensive, but what she wants never seems to matter.

“You’ve talked to Finnick about this?” her therapist asks, concerned.

“Finn and I have talked about it a few times, and he wants me to let go of him as well, but I just can’t. It’s how I’ve been living for so long, and I can’t bear to let go of that one constant.”

“Once you let go of him, you’ll be free - you’ll find there are opportunities you never knew existed.” Summoning what must count for passion in District Thirteen, Doctor Aurelius leans in towards her. “And all you have to do is allow reality in.”

“I can’t.” Moving on is too difficult. She’s crying now, and a part of her never wants to stop.

Aurelius pats her hand, and she feels so grateful towards him. “You’ll find your way forward, Annie. I have so much faith in you. Despite what you’ve been through, you’re so strong.” She hates the bells in Thirteen, how they ring every hour to tell everyone how they should be making neat, orderly progress in their lives, hates how they remind her that she’s stuck here, exactly where she’s been for so long, while everyone around her is moving forward. As much as she doesn’t want to, Annie drags herself up from where she’s been sitting. It’s time to go.

* * *

Her pleas never work, but she tries all the same. “Stay with me a while longer.” She makes her voice husky, promising.

“But I’ve got to go - they’re waiting for me.” Boggs and the others always want to steal him from her. “I wish I could stay.”

“I love you.”

He smiles at her, and it causes that lovely twist in her stomach that she hopes will never fade away. Finnick kisses her cheek, and his lips are so soft against her skin she almost wonders if she’s imagining them. Now more than ever, these moments with him are fleeting, as if they have to steal every second together from the laws that govern reality. She brings him in closer. One more kiss, and maybe it will be all right. “I’ll see you soon – according to all the reports, it shouldn’t take long for Snow to give in.”

* * *

One more kiss, and maybe it will be all right. She brings him in closer. Now more than ever, these moments with him are fleeting, as if they have to steal every second together from the laws that govern reality. Finnick kisses her cheek, and his lips are so soft against her skin she almost wonders if she’s imagining them. He smiles at her, and it causes that lovely twist in her stomach that she hopes will never fade away.

“I love you.”

“I wish I could stay.” Boggs and the others always want to steal him from her. “But I’ve got to go – they’re waiting for me.”

She makes her voice husky, promising. “Stay with me a while longer.” Her pleas never work, but she tries all the same.

* * *

It’s time to go. As much as she doesn’t want to, Annie drags herself up from where she’s been sitting. She hates the bells in Thirteen, how they ring every hour to tell everyone how they should be making neat, orderly progress in their lives, hates how they remind her that she’s stuck here, exactly where she’s been for so long, while everyone around her is moving forward.

“Despite what you’ve been through, you’re so strong. I have so much faith in you. You’ll find your own way forward, Annie.” Aurelius pats her hand, and she feels so grateful towards him.

She’s crying now, and a part of her never wants to stop. Moving on is too difficult. “I can’t.”

“And all you have to do is allow reality in.” Summoning what must count for passion in District Thirteen, Doctor Aurelius leans in towards her. “Once you let go of him, you’ll be free – you’ll find there are opportunities you never knew existed.”

“It’s how I’ve been living for so long, and I can’t bear to let go of that one constant. Finn and I have talked about it a few times, and he wants me to let go of him as well, but I just can’t.”

“You’ve talked to Finnick about this?” Her therapist asks, concerned.

Annie doesn’t want to sound defensive, but what she wants never seems to matter. “But I never want him to leave me.” It sounds childish, even to her own ears. “There’s a tiny person inside of me, and sometimes it seems he’s making all my decisions for me.” The little man across from her seems confused, so she tries to explain herself. “All I want is what’s best for him.”


	19. Breaking Point

"We can't risk a transmission right now, Finnick. Thirteen knows that she needs out of Four."

He had never liked Plutarch Heavensbee, and considering the man's cool demeanor as he said that  _Annie's safety_ was not worth the tiny risk of a quick radio signal, Finnick could not see that ever changing. "Just go sit down and don't worry about it."

He had been around Capitol people long enough to know when he had been dismissed. Finnick wrapped the loose-fitting green shirt tighter around himself and moved next to the still-unconscious Girl on Fire. He hoped that she really was worth all the trouble he had gone to, and from what he had seen in the last few minutes of that Arena, she might be. Her breaths were long and even, and if he had fewer worries, perhaps they would have lulled him to sleep as well. Instead, he sat between the mastermind of the revolution and its symbol, both unconscious, and worried. About the rebellion, about Four, about everything because the world seemed to be falling apart around him, but mostly about Annie. He did not know just how much worry she needed.

Finnick curled his legs up to his chest to try to warm himself up, but it did not work. He could not stop shaking, too exhausted to control his muscles but too scared to fall asleep.

He did not know how long he had been waiting when Haymitch came in. "We're here. C'mon."

"Where's Annie? Is she here yet?"

"Kid, I need you to sit down."

"What's wrong?"

Haymitch pushed him backwards. "Kid, I really need you to sit down now."

He stumbled back a few steps before falling on his bottom. Finnick did not feel the pain that must have coursed through him. He looked up at him, tears already stinging his eyes and throat tightening. "Where… where is she?"

"She's in the Capitol. They got her."

Maybe Haymitch tried to comfort him. Finnick could not drag himself back to reality to know.


	20. Knotted

"Finnick, if you can't get this knot out of my hair – Ouch!"

"Sorry," Finnick said, desperately trying to unknot his girlfriend's hair. "Don't worry, Annie, I'll get it. Could you sit still so I can get it out?"

Annie wriggled a little bit in her spot. "Finnick, I've been sitting here for half an hour while you tried to get this knot out. I'll give you five more minutes, but then I'm getting out the scissors." She stilled, and Finnick went back to work on the knot.

It had all started so innocently. They were sitting together on their porch, looking out at the ocean like they did most nights. Finnick had only come back from the Capitol a few days before, and with the memories of his time there still fresh in his mind, he needed his rope for comfort. Annie hadn't wanted him to go back inside for it, so she'd allowed him to knot her hair instead. It had been fine for a while, but then Finnick had tried a new knot of his own invention. He'd been trying to untie it for the last forty minutes.

"Five, four, three, two, one." Annie stood up, causing Finnick to accidentally pull her dark hair.

"No, Annie, please don't cut it off! Just give me five more minutes, and I'm sure I'll be able to get it back to normal." He pushed out his lower lip and widened his eyes. He'd never met a woman who could say no to his puppy dog look.

Luckily for him, Annie was no exception. "All right, Finn, one more try." She sat back down next to him. "Just remember, it's you who likes the long hair. I don't care if it all goes."

"I'll keep that in mind." Finnick closed his eyes and just felt the strands, focusing on how they fit together to form a knot. He smiled as he found the loose spot he'd been looking for. Once he loosened that area, the rest of the knot was easily untied. "There you have it," he said.

"Finally!" Annie turned to give Finnick a hug.

"You know, a thank you wouldn't be out of place here," said Finnick as he wrapped his arms around her.

Annie smirked at him. "It was your fault in the first place, Odair." She lessened the sting of her words by pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Is that enough thanks for you?"

"Not quite. I think another might be in order." His eyes fluttered shut as Annie thanked him again and again.


	21. Homesick

Out of habit, Finnick covered his fork and spoon with his napkin before moving on to study District Thirteen's too-hard, too-dry bread. The food here could never be called inspiring, but today's boiled vegetables, unrecognizable protein, and bread had passed the point of bland and traveled into unappetizing.

"The gulls aren't going to take them, you know."

Finnick looked up at Annie. "My bread? That's too bad. They'd be doing me a favor."

She shook her head. "No, your silverware. There aren't any gulls here to steal it." Annie nodded towards his napkin, and Finnick had to smile.

"No, I suppose there aren't."

"And as for your bread, I know someone who would like seconds if you aren't going to eat it yourself." A few Thirteen residents scowled at him when he tossed her the roll, but Annie, seemingly oblivious to their disapproval, immediately tucked in.

"You like it?"

She shook her head, waiting until she'd swallowed to answer. "Not really, but I've been hungry enough lately to eat just about anything."

He wasn't surprised. When she'd escaped from the Capitol, her cheeks had been sunken and her ribs had stuck out from her torso. It was good to see her regaining some of what she'd lost under the Capitol's torture. "Then I'm glad there aren't seagulls to steal it from you."

"Me too." Annie smiled at him around another bite. "Though I would be fine with a bit more sunshine."

"Yeah, I think I could handle that and some heat to go with it."

Annie gestured towards her now-empty plate. "Seafood."

"Swimming."

"Afternoons out on the boats."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence that stretched between them for several minutes before Finnick finally said what they were both thinking. "I miss home."

"Me too," she admitted. Annie reached out and stroked his cheek, Finnick leaning into her touch. "Imagine how wonderful it'll be when we go back. We won't have to hide anymore. We'll be able to just be us."

He turned to kiss the palm of her hand. "I look forward to it very much, Mrs. Odair."

She smiled and pulled her hand away. "Now don't start with that just yet. You have to actually marry me first."

"Do I?" he teased.

Annie rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, you really do."

"I look forward to it then, Mrs. Odair."

"Don't make me regret agreeing to this." A playful shove caught him by surprise, but by the time he stopped himself from falling out of his seat and regained his balance, his attacker was too interested in what little remained of her roll to notice his mock glare.


	22. Testing

She jumped when a hand wrapped around her arm. Annie whirled away from her machine with one fist raised, ready to defend herself. "No reason for that now, love," Haymitch said, grabbing her wrist. "We've got places to be. C'mon." He tugged her away from the assembly line, startling the other workers.

"I'm assigned here for the next two hours." These Thirteen people were devoted to their daily schedules. How much trouble would she be in if she left?

"Finnick's going to need you."

Something in his voice made her heart stop. "Where is he?" She needed to be with him  _now._

"Come on, I'll show you." Haymitch surprised Annie by breaking into a jog, and she followed him, their footsteps echoing through the cold, empty tunnels of District Thirteen.

* * *

 

 _It's just a test. They can't hurt her. She's safe._ No matter how many times Finnick repeated the phrases to himself, the screams didn't stop. "Finnick! Finnick, help me!" He couldn't help her. She wasn't here to help.

It had to be a recording or a jabberjay like in the Arena, but that didn't matter. Annie needed him, and there was nothing he could do.  _Useless_. He had a mission he needed to complete; he could worry about this later. Hands shaking, he pushed open the door, weapon raised and ready to shoot. The screaming only intensified. This… this couldn't be a recording. It seemed too emotional, too real. His hands shook as he searched for his target, but still he pressed forward.

"Stop! Finnick, you're hurting me!" He felt warm, no,  _hot_ , like the building was burning around him. Finnick blinked back the tears that stung in his eyes, doing his best not to drop the weapon. He hadn't hurt her; he couldn't have, but that didn't matter to his rapidly-beating heart or narrowing vision. Finnick's gut twisted with the next scream, and combined with the pounding dizziness in his head, he was certain for an instant that he would collapse.

But he struggled for breath and pressed forward.  _It isn't real. It can't be._ Finnick checked that he still had a firm grip on the rifle and pushed open the next door, weapon raised.  _Please be here. Please let this be over._ The instant he saw the figure in the corner, he pulled the trigger.

The shaking didn't start until he saw the red gushing from the hole in the dummy's forehead. Her screams stopped, and he collapsed to the ground, struggling to keep himself from vomiting as tears streamed down his face.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that position before he felt a gentle hand on his cheek. "Finnick," a woman's voice whispered as soft lips kissed his jawline. "It's okay. You're safe."

He couldn't care less if he's safe or not, but judging by the warm body pressed against his, she was all right. Finnick pulled her into his arms, forgetting his test for the comfort she provided.


	23. Alphabet Soup

" _A, B, C, D, E, F, G_ ," Finnick sings along with the rest of his class, following the boy next to him's motions as he traces the letters in the air. His teacher smiles at him when he messes up and makes the big C backwards, and he blushes when he realizes his mistake, but he keeps singing and dancing. They're just letters, she says later, and everyone makes a few mistakes in first grade. He'll get the hang of them eventually.

* * *

His backwards letters aren't worth a smile anymore. He does the extra work that his other teachers assigned him, but none of it seems to help, and by the time he walks into Ms. Norris' classroom for his first day of fifth grade, he has accepted that he'll be the stupid kid in class again. He does his best to sit in the back so he can escape notice.

Ms. Norris will not allow him to escape so easily. She moves him up to the front of the class and offers to meet with him after school for extra help, but the day his tutoring is scheduled to begin, he runs home as soon as the school bell rings. She's the only person who has ever told him he's smart, and Finnick can't bear to prove her wrong.

The next day, she forces him to stay after. "Finnick, if you aren't going to meet outside of school time, I need to meet with your parents."

He goes quiet for a moment after that, but he nods and waits as she writes a note for his mother to sign. He tries to puzzle out its meaning on the way home, but it's no use. Finnick is sure he'll find out what it says eventually.

* * *

"He's a very smart boy, but he hasn't been applying himself in class. I'm worried that Finnick doesn't have much of a future in front of him if he doesn't start devoting himself to his studies." Her glasses can barely keep their perch on her nose as she peers over them at him, and her hair is pulled back in the same rigid bun as always.

His father's voice is as rough as his hands and belt will be later. "What do you think we send you here for, boy? 'Cause it ain't for you to fuck around all day, I can tell you that much –"

"Patrick, not in front of his teacher –"

"Quiet, Sheila." He focuses his hard eyes on Finnick, who hunches his shoulders and pushes himself as far away as the chair will allow. "The boy's old enough to know when he's fucked something up. Aren't you?" Finnick knows he has to nod. No matter what you're agreeing to, things only get worse if you argue. "See, he agrees. He doesn't need your coddling no more."

"Mr. Odair, I think our time together would be best spent discussing your son's education."

Finnick has never heard a woman talk like that to his father, and despite the circumstances, he can't help but smile at Patrick Odair's flushed cheeks. "Well then, ma'am, what do you think we should be doing with him? 'Cause whatever you and the school've been doing hasn't been working too well."

He holds his breath and waits for her to tell them how he skipped their meeting, but her next words surprise him. "I was thinking that perhaps a more structured environment might be good for Finnick."

"What type of structure?" his mother asks.

Ms. Norris looks towards him. "I think Finnick would be an ideal candidate for the training academy. He's very athletic and very smart. He would have to spend most of his time in Port Town, though."

His mother's voice shook when she spoke up. "Would he be required to volunteer?"

"I'm not sure. There are usually four or five boys in each class, so of course not all of them end up in the Games, but I'm not certain how they decide who will be volunteering. That's definitely something you would want to discuss with the instructors there if you choose to look into it." Her eyes flick over to Finnick to judge his reaction. He shrugs at her, trying to hide how scary but wonderful the idea of leaving home sounds to him.

His parents have a few more questions, and Ms. Norris tells them that they don't have to make a decision tonight, but she'll tell the principal that they're interested.

Dad likes the idea of his child joining, and Finnick knows as soon as he steps out of the classroom that despite his mother's concerns, he'll start training eventually.

* * *

He has one bag that his mother packed, the clothes on his back, and himself. That's what Finnick's thinking when he waves at his parents from the deck of the ferry that will take him to Port Town. His mother cries, but he stays strong like his father told him to last night. He doesn't cry that night when he's assigned a bunk in a dormitory full of boys who are all at least as big and as strong as he is, and he doesn't cry when he loses every single match of sparring the next day. He's sure he'll get used to life here eventually.

Sometimes, he thinks that his entire life has been spent waiting for eventually to come.


	24. One Love

"I love you," Finnick murmured as he nuzzled into her neck. He kissed up and down the column of her throat, trying to memorize every inch of her sun-bronzed skin.

Annie went rigid, and she pushed him away. "What did you say?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I love you," Finnick replied honestly. He tried to embrace Annie again, but she stopped him and stood up from the couch they had been sharing.

"No, you don't." Her words made his blood freeze in his veins. "You say that to everyone."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He wanted to tell her how  _wrong_ she was, that he'd never said those words to anyone before and would never cheapen his love like that, but he couldn't find the words to tell her how much she meant to him.

Annie waited for a response, and when she got none, she sighed. "Finnick, I'm fine with … whatever it is we have," she started, slowly moving back towards the couch. "We're adults – I can handle being just a friend you have sex with every once in a while. That's fine. But I'm not okay with being lied to. If you aren't in love with me, I don't want you to say you are. Those Capitol people might want to hear it, but we need to be honest with each other."

"Annie, it's not what you think –"

"I'm not in the mood anymore." She left the room to grab her shoes.

Seeing Annie walk away finally prompted Finnick into action. He leapt from the loveseat and sprinted to the front door, jumping in front of it so Annie couldn't get out. "No, don't leave! I can explain!"

Annie shook her head and slipped on her shoes, avoiding his gaze. "I don't want to hear it right now, Odair. Let's just let it be, okay?" She finished fastening the straps on her brown sandals and grabbed for the door handle, but Finnick rested his weight against the door to stop it from opening.

"I've never said that to anybody before." He should have said more, but those were the only words that came to mind.

Annie moved her hand away from the doorknob. "Say that again," she demanded.

Finnick looked directly into her eyes and repeated himself. "I've never said that to anybody before, Annie. You're special to me."

A smile spread across Annie's features. She leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You mean so much to me, Annie," he said, folding his arms around her to bring her closer to him. "I love you."

She pressed her cheek to his chest, smiling even though she knew he couldn't see her face. Annie had daydreamed of this moment since primary school, and now those dreams were coming true. Her happiness was quickly joined by curiosity. "Why did you pick me? It's not as though you're starved for options."

"Because you're worth more than all of those Capitol women – and men – combined. Your laugh, your kindness, your strength … Annie, you're the most brilliant, wonderful person I could ever hope to meet, much less fall in love with. Those other people mean less than nothing to me. You're special." Their lips met in a warm, tender kiss.

A tear ran down Annie's face. "I like you too, Odair. I think I'll keep you." Finnick pinched her. He was gentle, but she still squeaked. "Okay, I love you, too."

"That's more like it."

"I believe we were in the middle of something?" Annie asked in her most innocent voice.

Finnick grinned, his green eyes lighting up with mischief. "How could I have forgotten about that?" He swept her off her feet and carried her bridal-style up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Much later that night, when he again whispered that he loved her, Annie did not argue. Instead, she returned his words and kissed him goodnight.


	25. The Meetup

He squinted against the light above, his eyes burning and head pounding. Every sound hurt until an angel's voice reached him. "Good to see you awake. We were starting to wonder if you were going to make it." She wasn't familiar, but should she be? He racked his brain for any memory of that specific voice, but he found nothing.

Pain shot through him when he tried to move, and Finnick could not stop a groan. She pressed him into the mattress, and he did not have the strength to stop her. "You aren't ready for that yet. I'll go get the doctor, and the two of you can talk about this." She was gone before he could ask for her name, and though he tried to use the bright light above like a life vest to cling to reality, but before the woman returned with the doctor, he had slipped under the waves again.

* * *

 _Start with what you know is real._ "My name is Finnick Odair. I'm twenty-four years old. I was in the Hunger Games twice." The doctor took down careful notes, nodding as he went. "I need to find Annie."

"It will most likely be a few days before we can find your friend," he said, "but I'll see what we can do. We'll get you back where you belong, don't worry about that."

Two days passed, then three. He asked the nurses every time they passed his bedside, and they all had the same answer for him. There were hundreds or thousands of patients across the Capitol waiting to find loved ones, and the communication systems were still a mess. They would find Annie eventually, but he had to wait like everybody else. Being a Victor would win him no privileges under this new system.

His hands shook when he tried to tie knots, and his thoughts never stayed with him for long. Finnick worried sometimes that he was losing his mind, but even those concerns were quickly washed away. He told one of the nurses – or at least he thought he did, but it's hard to remember – that he had problems staying awake while in District Thirteen, but they still worry about his sleeping habits. The needle in his arm and the constant supply of drugs didn't help. Morning, night, and any time in between, the only thing he could think about for very long was Annie. His fingers fumbled through another would get back to her. He would.

* * *

A sour taste crept into her mouth as she looked at her breakfast. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the bread, but Annie forced herself to take a delicate little bite anyway. Cautiously, she swallowed, but today, her stomach was having none of it. No more of that, then. "You, my friend, need to decide if you want me to eat everything or nothing at all. You can't have it both ways."

Perhaps, there will come a day when she doesn't wait for his response. At least this morning, the phone chose to break the constant silence. She waddled more than walked over to where it hanged on the wall. "Annie Odair speaking." After eight months, the name still felt foreign.

"Ma'am, I'm calling about a Mr. Finnick Odair. Is he a relative of yours?"

Her eyes widened. She couldn't breathe. This wasn't possible.

"Ms. Odair? Are you still there?"

Annie shook her head. "Yes, yes of course."  _Don't get your hopes up._

"He's here, and we were wondering if there is someone in your family who could come and stay with him in the hospital for the next few weeks until he's ready to go home."

She had always thought the ladies in the Capitol's soap operas that fainted when they heard big news were rather silly, but Annie's vision narrowed for an instant and her knees began to give out beneath her. She forced herself to sit down. "Say that again," she demanded.

"Finnick is alive, and he is here in the Capitol. We would appreciate someone to stay here and keep him company until he's well."

"Th-thank you, thank you so much!" She was crying, and the man probably couldn't understand a word she was saying, but she hoped he could sense the emotion behind her words. "I'll be there as soon as I can." She didn't bother to hang up the phone, instead letting it drop to the kitchen counter as she hurried upstairs to pack. If she remembered correctly, the one Capitol-bound train of the day left in a bit over an hour, and she was going to be onboard.

* * *

"Are you sure you should be traveling alone in your condition, ma'am?" The woman at the ticket office did not accept the coins she offered. "Do you have someone who can go along with you?"

She fumed. "My husband is in the Capitol, and he needs me. I swear, if you make me miss a single moment with him –"

The woman shushed her. "Now, dear, that's just the hormones talking. Why don't you call a friend and have them come with you? There's no reason to get upset."

"I am not upset. I get upset when I spill something, or forget an important date, or when I have the wonderful pregnancy joy of going through every emotion I have ever had and a few that I never knew existed in the space of ten minutes. No, I am furious, and it's not your damn hormones. Give me a ticket now." It was more a growl than anything else, but Annie was far past the point of caring. She shoved her money at the woman, and after staring at her hand for a moment, she hesitantly offered the ticket. Annie snatched it from her hands.

"You be careful now, and don't push yourself too hard, you hear?"

She didn't turn back to wave goodbye as the train came into the station.

* * *

The first hour was fine. The second hour, she started to wonder if she should have made this trip alone. By the third, she was certain she should have waited.

"You just need to stay in there for a few more hours," she whispered. The child didn't listen, and another contraction hit. Annie moved her pillow beneath her hips. Perhaps gravity could help her.

Apparently not. She groaned and reached for the button next to her bed. Though she heard a buzzing, there was no answer. She should have expected that. Under the new president, Avox servants would no longer be forced to attend to passengers' every need, and while she agreed that it was the right thing to do, today, Annie could really use their help. "Somebody? Please, come help me!"

No answer. Why had she paid for a private compartment again? This would be so much simpler if –

She heard footsteps outside in the hallway. "Please, somebody! I need help!"

The door opened, revealing the woman standing behind it. "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm going into labor. Please, find someone who can help."

The woman's eyes flicked over her, and before Annie could ask anything more, she was sprinting down the hallway.

* * *

"No, I don't have any idea. I'm not a doctor." He paused. "Fine, then. They want to talk to you." The attendant passed her the phone.

"Hello?"

"You think you're going into labor, yes?"

 _Would they have called you if I wasn't?_ No, it was best to stay pleasant. "Yes."

"How long have you been having these pains?"

"About four hours."  _Eternity._

She heard the doctor mumble something, but Annie couldn't make out exactly what he'd said. "Just try to keep him in for a while, alright? We'll have a team at the train station to take you to the hospital right away."

Another groan cut off their conversation, and though Annie wanted nothing more than to see Finnick again, she knew that other matters would have to be settled first.

* * *

"When can I leave?"

"Mrs. Odair, you gave birth less than thirty-six hours ago. You aren't ready to leave the hospital yet." The nurse did not look up from his clipboard.

"He's here too. You don't have to let me leave, just roll me down there." She hadn't stopped asking them for this since she arrived. Eventually, they would have to break down.

Perhaps now was her chance. The nurse's shoulders slumped. He set down his clipboard and looked at her. "Please realize that I don't have the authority to say whether or not you're ready to go, but I'll put in a good word for you with the doctor."

"That's all I can ask. Thank you very much."

"Annie, we really are all very happy for you. I wish you the best of luck."

She smiled at him. "Keep an eye on Ronan for me while I'm gone."

"Looking for a babysitter already, eh?"

"You bet."

* * *

She didn't know quite what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Annie had the aide wheel her in closer to the bed where he slept. Scars crisscrossed every inch of his exposed skin, and a set of bags stood next to the bed, each releasing a steady flow of drugs into his bed. He seemed smaller now, but she supposed that months of comas would do that to a person.

He was more beautiful than ever. Annie reached out a hand to gently stroke what remained of his bronze hair. "I'm glad to see you again," she whispered. She pressed her lips to his temple, and for the first time in months, she was home.

* * *

This time, he had no doubt that it was an angel that spoke to him. Finnick ignored the pain as he moved his hand up to stroke her cheek. "Hello, love," she said, kissing his palm.

"Annie." He smiled for the first time in months. "You're here."

"It would seem that way, yes."

His smile grew. "Come on, get up here." His arm rested on her shoulders, but it wasn't enough. He needed her the same way he needed air or water, just to stay alive.

"I can't, love."

_No. There's someone else, or she's hurt, or…_

"I'm actually supposed to be downstairs right now."

"Who hurt you?"  _Who do I need to kill?_

She shook her head and nuzzled what little she could reach of his arm from her position. "No, nobody hurt me." Annie paused for a moment to think. "Finnick, when we go back to Four, it won't be just the two of us anymore."

He raised one eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "Ronan is nineteen inches, six pounds and three ounces, and thirty-eight hours old."

It took him a moment to understand what she had just said, but when he did, his breath caught in his chest. Her eyes looked steadily into his as she waited for his reaction. "That… that's incredible." He leaned in to kiss her lips, and he could feel her smiling against his lips. "I… wow."

"That's how I feel, too." They sat there, doing nothing but smiling at each other for a long moment before she giggled.

"What is it? What's so funny?" He couldn't help but laugh along.

Annie shook her head, and a few loose strands bounced around her face. "The two of us make such a sorry sight right now."

"I think you make an absolutely gorgeous sight."

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself." She kissed him again and again, and when the nurse returned to collect her again, she found them still entwined in the others' arms.


	26. First Timer

Annie had never bought into her mother's advice on a tidy home when she was growing up. Cleaning the kitchen was a necessary evil before one could have guests over, nothing more. Now, though, she understood how calming it could be to know that everything was in its place. After all, if one's home and mind were both in shambles, what did they have to show for themselves?

And once they had finished dessert and she had a chance to put the dishes away, it could be tidy once again. Good. When everything was where it was supposed to be, she didn't have to wonder if it had been her or another who had placed that there, if someone else was in the house with her, if they were hiding just around the corner, ready to do her in –

"You all right?" Finnick's voice stopped her thoughts. Handy to have him around for that purpose alone. "You seemed like you were slipping away for a minute there."

"I'm here now." She hoped her smile didn't look too fake.

"Glad to hear it." He struggled for a moment with the wine bottle before he managed to pop off the cork. Finnick poured her glass first, then his own. Annie was still trying to figure out what exactly these dinner, well, not exactly dates, but parties for two or something along those lines, were. If one of her friends claimed that she was seeing a man about her own age for dinner once a week and looked forward to it for days ahead of time, she certainly wouldn't accept the excuse that they were just friends. And yet, she found herself giving the exact same spiel to her girlfriends over and over again.

Because it was true – maybe. She wouldn't mind if those eye rolls turned out to be one hundred percent deserved. Yes, he was handsome, but who cared about that? His voice was calming, he had dimples that she'd never seen in the Capitol ads because they only showed with his genuine smiles, he never had a hard time making her laugh…

He was talking. She should probably be listening. But her eyes only wanted to watch his lips move and her mind only wanted to think about what it might be like to kiss them, and maybe that's what he's thinking about too, because he's asking if she wanted anything more. Yes, of course she did, but she thought she was doing such a good job of hiding it, but if he's willing, she's certainly happy to go along with it. Annie caught herself leaning up onto her tiptoes and aiming for his mouth, and was that what he was actually talking about? Oh dear, no, but she's already there, and it can't get any worse, and -

He jerked away at the last second, and her lips met the corner of his mouth for just an instant before she pulled away. Her eyes went wide as she scrambled away from him, trying to put some distance between the two of them before she could fuck up again. "Finnick, I'm so sorry," she said, looking down at her hands because she couldn't bear to look at him. Her cheeks and ears felt like they were on fire. He wasn't going to want to talk to her again. She couldn't blame him. Best to slither back to the Capitol, where the other creeps like her hid because nobody normal would want them.

"Annie?"

Why was he still talking to her? Didn't he see nothing good could ever come of it? Perhaps it had been only a kiss this time, but next time, she didn't want to think about what could happen. Then, she'd be just like them, and… "I'm sorry." Maybe, if she said it enough times, he really would forgive her.

"You don't need to be."

Finally, she looked up to find him watching her and smiling a huge grin. "You're sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

She could breathe again.

The relief was short-lived. "But," he added, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into the ground and disappear forever, "you missed." There was something joking to his voice, but she couldn't figure out what he could think funny. Being like  _them_ was anything but.

She couldn't quite puzzle out what he meant before he kissed her, this time full on the lips, and it was everything she'd been dreaming of these last few weeks. Finnick's arms wrapped around her waist, and it took her a moment before she realized this was okay, and she was allowed to touch his hair and move in closer. What on earth had she done to deserve this, because whatever it was, she wanted to keep doing it again and again so the gifts kept coming.

Eventually, their lips broke apart, but neither was ready for the embrace to truly end, so they stayed there, cuddled up against the other, until the last beams of sunlight disappeared to the west.

 


	27. Reindeer Games

It took her a moment to locate her target in the mess of bodies on the floor, but eventually, she spotted his bronze-haired head at the back of the group. Even after she had him within her sights, she stalled for a moment, watching him interact with his environment.

But patience had never been her strong suit. Annie half-tiptoed over to where the boy sat, legs criss-cross and as still as one could expect, then leaned down. "How are you, sweetie?" she asked, quiet as to not disturb the other students.

"Mommy!" Ronan spun around and hugged her.

Annie returned the embrace, smiling. Now, if only he could always be so happy to see her. "Shh," she said, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'm going to go drop off some stuff, then I'll be right back and sit with you. While I'm gone, I need you to be really quiet and be a good listener for Mrs. Donaghue."

He nodded with all the gravity a five-year-old could muster, and with a quick kiss to his forehead and a nod towards his teacher, she hurried over to the other side of the room.

The treats table was like a Pinterest board come to life. Next to the Santa cookies and snowman almond-bark Oreos – complete with tiny top hats, scarves, and pipes – her store-bought sugar cookies, still in their plastic wrapping, looked absolutely pitiful. But they weren't going to waste – and the other moms, the ones who always walked their kids to school and wore mascara and non-linty exercise pants every day – had already seen her over here, so there was really no choice. Annie stuck them right in the middle. They weren't cute, but they'd taste good, and that was what really mattered, right?

She had to keep telling herself that as she took the napkins out of the bag. Well, not taste, but usefulness, and the basic message was the same. The plain ones worked just as well as the patterned ones. Though she'd admit that she'd been in a bit of a rush when she picked these out, all the other designs had seemed a bit too obviously Christmas-y. Santa, Christmas trees, angels, no plausible deniability with any of them, and this was a public school. Didn't seem like any of the other mothers, with their cute matching Rudolph plates and cups, cared, but still. Maybe she was just more sensitive to these sorts of things than most - growing up the only half-Jewish kid around will do that to you – but they could at least try.

"That's not the point, Annie," she muttered under her breath.

"Sorry? I didn't quite hear you." Damn it, even her voice sounded nicer than Annie's.

She made sure a smile was firmly in place before she turned to talk to the other mom. "I was just saying how pretty all the treats are. They must have taken forever."

"I guess. I can only speak for the snowmen and the gingerbread cookies, but the twins were taking a nap, and, well, y'know." She shrugged, making her silky blond hair catch the light in a way Annie could only dream of.

"They're darling. You stay home, then?" This woman had introduced herself at some point, she just knew it. The name wasn't coming to her, but that didn't mean Annie was going to ask. That would be the same as admitting defeat, and the Crestas were a proud people. Though thinking about it, that trait never seemed to work out too well for them in the end. Oh well, no time to rethink her entire life now.

Belatedly, Annie realized that she'd tuned out of the conversation. "I just didn't want to miss out on that time with the kids, y'know? They're so precious at this age, and if there was any way we could swing it, my husband and I thought it was worth a little scraping by. How about you, Annie? Don't you find staying home rewarding?"

Way to make her feel about two feet tall. "Oh, I work in accounting. I just took the afternoon off to help with the class party."

Cashmere – yeah, that was it, Annie remembered thinking it was something stupid – gave her a tight, awkward half-smile. "Having a career is lovely."

"It really is. I told Ronan I'd hurry back once I'd dropped off my stuff, so…" Annie shrugged and got away as quickly as possible.

* * *

_Off-tune versions of "Frosty the Snowman" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Her own voice, repeating "we're frosting the cookies now, not our classmates" over and over. The lid flying off the jar of sprinkles in a perfect arc as the little girl tipped it upside down._

Annie cringed. What had happened to the whole 'visions of sugar plums' thing?

"Babe, if you still want Christmas ideas, I think a tranquilizer gun would be a good one." Finnick collapsed down onto the couch next to her. "Cookies after dinner was a bad plan."

Of course it was. She'd suggested it. The prudent path here was probably to not bring that up. "I could've used one of those today."

Finnick snorted. "I forgot you had Ronan's class party today. Hyper kids, huh?"

"God, yes." Know what sounded really good right now? Wine. Lots of it. "And a few of the adults could've used it too," she added.

"So the Yoga Pants Committee showed."

"Indeed they did." She rubbed at the center of her forehead, right where it'd been hurting for the last couple hours despite the Advil, but after a second, she turned to face Finnick. "Wait, Yoga Pants Committee?" Finnick checking out the hot moms when he dropped off and picked up Ronan was just what she needed. Great. Just great.

Finnick shrugged. "Those ladies who hang out and talk in front of the door every day? You've gotta admit, they do wear a lot of yoga pants."

"I suppose so." Fingers crossed, he'd realize that this would be a good time to shut up about the whole thing.

No such luck. "I'm glad you didn't go all Heathers on them." Finnick's voice was soft, and he had that false-serious tone down to a science, but it sent her into a peal of giggles. "Hey, it's a real worry!"

She gave him a shove. "I wasn't going to kill them!"

"You were the one who wanted to shoot them with a tranq gun!"

He deserved a couple more pokes to the ribs. "If Ronan or Maggie comes down after hearing us, I'm blaming you."

"Nobody wants that." He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "How was the party?"

Annie snuggled up a little closer against her husband's side. "It was kinda nice. I really liked seeing how Ronan's getting along at school. It seems like he has a lot of friends."

"That's good. It sure seems like he's adjusting well."

"I think he is." A comfortable silence fell between the two of them, broken only by Finnick getting up to go into the kitchen. Annie followed him. "It was good to be able to spend some time not really one-on-one, but just with him, y'know?"

"Yeah. I wonder sometimes if we don't do enough of that."

She nodded absentmindedly as she watched him grab two glasses and some eggnog. "We should make a point of being better about it next year."

"Definitely." He added a shot of whiskey to both glasses, then offered one to her. "Drink to it?"

She raised her glass. "And to surviving the holidays."

"And not killing the class mom."

"I was going to go with us or word peace or good will towards man next, but I suppose that works too."

If Ronan or Maggie came down now, their laughter would be really difficult to explain, but they were being loud enough that she should really start coming up with her excuses now.

 


	28. Engulf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for torture.

It hurts. _It? You’re finally catching on._ “No, no, please be quiet.” _The human body has a point beyond which where it hurts no longer matters, and you’ve found it. Is there a level beyond that? Would you like to find out? Where it doesn’t matter any longer that it’s you and not the air around you or the chair you sit on? You may consider yourself an expert on pain, Annie Cresta, but I assure you, there is still much left to learn._

 _And perhaps eventually you’ll become the chair, and the air, and that man over there. What was once Annie Cresta will dissolve away into nothingness, disappear like dewdrops, and it will still hurt._ In the corner, the man hunches over a desk, preparing needles _that stab and burn and you feel them even when they’re gone._ She has tried _every, and thing_ she can to escape her bonds, but her hands are still tied well above her head. Annie wonders if she’ll ever have feeling in her fingertips again. _The more of you there is, the more of you they can hurt. Stupid girl. Why did you listen when Mama told you not to put your fingers in the cages?_

Perhaps she is melting away, because Annie isn’t certain where the scream comes from. She hurts _it always hurts and it’s never going to go away_ , but the noise is too screechy, too animal _are you anything else?_ to be hers. But her throat is raw _and bleeding, the blood’s running down your throat, drowning you from the inside out_ and the rest of her is on fire, and if this doesn’t stop soon, she’s going to go mad.

 _Mad, mad, mad._ That word echoes in her head until only it and the pain exist. And is there anything else for her? Perhaps this is all there is for anyone. The other people, the ones who bring the needles and keep the flashing lights and eardrum-bursting music on all night, they never ask questions. They have only pain to give _the modern magi’s finest gift._

The _boom_ shakes her very bones, and Annie’s head pounds _with a thousand pickaxes, miners buried in the explosion desperately trying to dig their way out. But in the Capitol, there is never an escape._ The needle – the yellow this time, the one that makes everything too large and her so very small – increases the miners’ number to a million. And still she hangs, her shoulders so torn and sore and impossibly stretched that she’s amazed they haven’t fallen off yet. _Not that that would be such a bad thing._

Her body slams against the floor, and weeks of bruises scream in perfect agony against the cold metal. She writhes on the ground, naked, the cold and antiseptic that hang in the air a burning salve against her wounds. All around her, the room grows _you’re mad, Annie Cresta,_ or perhaps she shrinks, but in a world of only her and hurt, does it make any difference? She screams again, and there is no one to answer her. The man is gone, and it’s getting bigger, and she’s far too small _and the room’s a jaw, and it’s stretching to swallow you whole._

And it does, overwhelming her, assaulting all of her senses in a constant barrage of hurt. And she’s slipping, down and down and further still, until eventually, the entity that once was Annie Cresta and the universe that once was called Pain can no longer be separated from one another. _You’re mad, you’re mad, you’ll never escape._


	29. Foolish Courage

"And the female tribute is…" his voice always trails off right here to build the suspense, and I always hate it. "Mags Cohen!"

My hand is in the air before Adrian is finished. "I volunteer!" Not the most formal way of going about it – for that, I would have had to start the paperwork a week ago – but it had worked well enough for Katniss Everdeen last year. I don't wait for any kind of approval and instead hurry to the front of the stage before anyone can stop me. The crowd and cameras gets a quick wave and a tight smile before I give up on the happy face. They'll edit it out in the broadcast.

Adrian blinks a couple times before everything seems to click. "These Reapings are always full of surprises, aren't they? I love it!" He grabs me by my elbow and pulls me a little closer to him. From far away, the smile he gives me probably seems friendly, edging on flirtatious, but up close, his eyes are full of worry. He's wondering if I'm an idiot. It's a fair question, and one that I'm asking myself right now as well.

"Now for the men!" There's a tingle at the back of my neck, the kind you only get when someone is watching you from behind. I move my arms behind my back and wave as discretely as I can at Finnick. I pray to every power in the universe that it won't be him, that his certainty over these last few months that it'll be his name that's drawn is nothing more than paranoia. One of my hands is clasped tight around the opposite wrist, and though I tell myself to relax and try to summon up memories of the anti-anxiety strategies they taught me after the Games, but the nails begin to cut into my wrist all the same. It was stupid to wear the light green dress today. Any blood will show.

Mags told me once, after the Games when I heard almost nothing and understood even less, that we in Four had once worshipped a great and merciful God. We were fools then, and we haven't gotten any better. I hold out hope even after his name's been called that Adrian's made a mistake. But then the seconds stretch out, and I feel a hand against my own, and it's too large and too gentle to be anyone else's, but why would Finnick come up when it should be someone, _anyone_ else?

They might as well have reaped a robotic Annie for all the emotion I show when we have to shake hands. President Snow must be proud.

But when the show is over and the Victors retreat into the Justice Building, the emotions swarm around me. There's the usual gnat of Anxiety buzzing in my ear, and its much larger friend Fear has chosen to join in on the fun. Fear is hot ashes coals being ground into my skin. Desperation is the tidal wave that will suck me under unless I fight it every inch of the way, and even then, I never have much of a chance. These are all familiar, but regret, the chain around my ankle, that one is new. And I can't blame anyone else. Regret does tend to work that way.

I don't really remember what happened last time – the entire lead-up to the Games are a bit of a blur – but I feel like the time to meet with family and friends was longer. My parents and sister come to say goodbye, separately, in order to maximize the amount of time we'll have together, but all too soon, it's over. I hope they understand how much I'll miss them.

The train is quiet for about the first half second. "What were you thinking?" Finnick hisses. I suppose I'm lucky I've been able to put the confrontation off this long.

Oh, look, Anger's shown up to play as well. I spin on my heel towards him. "As though you would have done anything different."

"I wouldn't have volunteered if I knew there was a chance you were going to get reaped too!"

"So you would have let her go into the Arena to die?"

He goes quiet at that, but it doesn't feel like winning. I close the space between us and hug him close. My next words are muffled by his chest. "I don't want to waste our time fighting."

Finnick leans in against me and kisses the top of my head. "At least tell me that you're going to try to get out."

"Just as much as you will." It's a loaded statement, and I don't even feel bad about it. I can picture his face now, and I wish I couldn't. "Finn –"

"Please stop." He doesn't pull away.

"We know what we're doing. We've got as good a chance as anyone there." I lower my voice even further. "We have a chance to make a difference, Finn. And I don't want to speak for you, but I want to make it count."

I feel him nod. With any luck, the cameras won't pick up on it.


	30. At the Funeral

She wasn't exactly sure how watching the widow had become her job. Really, Johanna wasn't quite sure how any of this had come together. Annie hadn't been in any state to plan this, and after talking to Finnick's four surviving siblings, it didn't seem like they'd had much of a say in the planning either. The one powerful figure in the Odair family, an aunt who had made Johanna feel like another sibling within twenty minutes, had forced everything together in a feat comparable to forcing planets into orbit.

And it was _impressive._ How in hell a little barely-five-foot woman had managed to strong-arm the district government into not only allowing but also paying for a ceremony like this was beyond her. Black banners streamed down the side of the Justice Building, and the stairway that led to the entrance was lit by thousands of small, flickering candles. The navy-purple shroud of sky above made the image before her even more haunting.

Johanna slipped her arm through Annie's as they started up the path. Hundreds of people framed both sides of the path, and the plaza was packed as tightly as she had ever seen for the reapings. Finnick could not personally have touched so many lives. No, to the people of District Four, this was one opportunity to publicly mourn all the dead.

She couldn't imagine a comfortable funeral, but this one felt all wrong. Walking through the center aisle of the gathered chairs with a dark-veiled Annie, Johanna could think only of the wedding. _You stood with her just before she became a bride; it's only fitting that you stand with her just after she became a widow._ And just as before, up at the altar, Finnick, or what little is left of him, waits for them at the altar.

"Are you going to be okay?" she whispered.

"I-I… I don't know." Annie had never been a loud sort, but now, Johanna could hardly hear her. She grabbed the other woman's hand and gave it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

The casket was closed. Realistically, it had to be. The few scraps that they had been able to identify as human would have been too upsetting for the gathered crowd. Still, it would have been nice to see a corpse and say goodbye for the last time to something that at least looked like Finnick. Instead, she'll mouth her farewell to a box that has a bit of Finnick, a few bits of sea glass, and a handful of ultrasound images.

She and Annie sat at the front with the rest of the Odair family through the ceremony. Annie broke down into sobs the moment it started. Johanna tried to comfort her, but a few awkward pats on the back and half-hearted _shh_ through a shaking voice did nothing to calm the woman. After only a moment or two, Finnick's aunt slid a bit closer to Annie on the bench, allowing her to hide her face against her shoulder as she cried.

But that kindness left Johanna with nothing to hold onto. It was selfish, she knew that, but now there was nothing to distract her from the ceremony she didn't want to happen. If she'd been there, if she'd just been able to hold onto that goddamn little piece of her mind for a few minutes longer, if that bitch Coin had let her go along with the others…

It's not mature, it's not healthy, it's selfish as fuck, and she didn't care. But she did. And that was what hurt most.


	31. En Pointe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some light gore. Also, if I've gotten anything wrong about ballet, I apologize. Please feel free to correct me.

Just because she couldn't see any cameras didn't mean there weren't any. She didn't want to think about how many rules she was about to break. Doctor's orders. Museum rules. Possibly state law as well. She wasn't so sure about that one. This place was run by the state, but Annie hoped that the legislators and policemen and whoever else might try to enforce these types of rules had better things to worry about. It wasn't like she was going to hurt anything. Hopefully.

She swallowed as she scanned the gallery one last time, praying that nobody would happen upon her in here. Tuesday afternoon, from what she'd seen online, was usually a quiet time here, but that didn't mean she had the museum to herself. As close to satisfied as she was going to get, Annie sat down and pulled the shoes out of her backpack.

For the first time in her life, her feet actually looked decent. No bandage-covered blisters or bruises today. The knobbiness of her joints and the overly high arch, though, would never get better, both sacrificed for a future she wouldn't get to have.

One extra time won't do any more damage. Best to end this the same place it began. She laced up her pointe shoes with practiced ease. Another heartbeat, one final _please God, just one more time_ , and she's up.

Immediately, her foot cramped up, and she fell back onto the gallery bench, hissing. But she did not spend three weeks working her courage up and eleven dollars on an admission ticket to go home without this. Annie forced herself up again, and her legs groaned. She could all too easily imagine her legs breaking, the bones cracking into such jagged edges that they poked through the skin and blood dripped down onto the floor. Here, even the building is a work of art, and it would be a sin to soil it. But she was up, and this time, she would not stumble.

The routine had been drilled into her since she was four. Balancé, couru, pirouette… she had repeated each of them so many times that it didn't require any real thought. The motions had to be effortless, but it took years of tuning and training each individual muscle until one broke to make it seem easy. Annie felt the burn of acid on muscle as she spun, but it had always been her greatest delight.

Above her, the girls danced along, and for the first and last time, she was the principal. They served as court and audience all in one, and as long as she did not stop, she could stay in their world, where promising careers were not ended by a single fall. Here, having three surgeries to pay off was unthinkable, and no doctors would dare tell a dancer to stop forever. It was a dream she never wanted to end, but then again, she'd never wanted any of it to end.

She took a deep bow, the one she deserved, her goodbye to the other dancers. In her mind, those same pale pink roses from the painting above rained down on her, and it was hard to say goodbye to the applause and adoration. She may have worked all her life for it, but that didn't mean it was ever going to be hers.

She nearly stumbled when a sound came from behind her. _I haven't touched anything, I promise. I'm done, please just let me leave. I promise I won't do anything like that ever again._ A hundred excuses, none any better than the last, swirled through her mind, but they all left when she saw the man clapping behind her. Annie stood, frozen, ready for him to call in security and have her escorted from the premises.

"The Degas ballerinas have never been my favorites, but after that, I think I might have to change my mind." His smile was charming, certainly, but she saw the badge and the walkie-talkie and oh no, that couldn't be any good, and –

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again." The words are too rushed, and Annie doubts anyone could make them out. Even she's not sure what she just said.

The security guard grinned. "Hey, don't worry about it. You shouldn't pull that one again, but you didn't touch anything."

"Oh."

"You seemed really good. You a professional or something?"

"I was." Now that her heart rate was finally slowing down again, she could take a closer look at the newcomer. How had a guy like this ended up as a security guard, anyway? Tall, bronze hair that did that supermodel disheveled-but-flawless thing – he looked like he belonged in a lifeguard's chair. Or on a magazine cover. Definitely not in a second-tier art museum, that was for sure.

"And now?"

"Let's say I suddenly have a lot more free time on my hands."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm Finnick. Pleased to meet you." She shook his hand. This was definitely the longest conversation she'd had with a security guard in, well, ever, and surprisingly enough, she wasn't minding it at all. Oh dear god, from this close, he even smelled nice. Lord have mercy. How was a girl supposed to focus on the artwork?

She was going to keep it together. He probably had to pick up enough drooling female messes as it was. "Annie."

"So, Annie, since you've got all this spare time, mind telling me a bit about ballet? It'd be great to know a couple things for when people ask me about these paintings."

"Of course." He probably should be doing other things; the museum wasn't paying for him to stick around and flirt with a patron. On the other hand, she should probably be doing something to put her life back together right now, so she couldn't judge. Still, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon. She took him from painting to painting, telling him what positions the ballerinas were in, what style of costumes, anything interesting she could think of.

When they had circled back to where they began, Finnick gave her another one of those gorgeous grins. "Thanks for that. I suppose I don't have any excuse to tell guests that ballerina's toes sometimes fall off from overwork now."

"You don't."

"Oh, I do." There's pure mischief in his eyes, and she wasn't sure where it was directed.

"Well, you don't get to say that anymore."

"I might. Could be fun."

She glared up at him. "You said it yourself. You don't have an excuse anymore."

"So, Miss Annie, will you be coming back to make sure I'm on the straight and narrow?"

"I think I might have to."

"That's the spirit. So, have anywhere to go real soon?"

She shook her head.

"Then, mind if I take you on a guided tour of the rest of the floor?"

"I think I could be convinced."


	32. Reality and Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers for gore and mental illness.

She can’t tell them. They’ve kept Peeta in the hospital for weeks now, and she can’t go back there, not with the doctors and the needles and the restraints that keep you down so they can do whatever they want to you. But these terrors, these bubbles of uncertainty that stay in her chest and get bigger until they’re ready to swallow her whole that say none of it is real, they won’t leave her alone, and she knows they’ll never really go away. Even when they retreat, they’re just a hairbreadth away, and she can’t predict when her mind will move just a millimeter too far this way or that and send her back there.

The worst Thirteen’s doctors can do does not compare to that place.

In her nightmares – waking and otherwise – she returns there, to the place where the most horrifying demons do not have to hide. Instead, they walk among the others, their scales, forked tongues, and horns not so strange among the other freaks the Capitol deigns beautiful. They come to her, when she is weakest, when reality and fantasy fall into an indistinct gradient, brushing their claws gently along her cheeks and whispering sweet horrors in her ear.

Tonight, the nightmares are so impossible that they must be real. There is no light to generate the shadows that leap and dance across the wall, tactile enough that one will occasionally step away from it to become a dark night-creature, the sort of which she once doubted exists outside of children’s stories. The bubble expands within her, its thick, blood-red walls putting such a pressure on the inside of her ribcage that Annie is sure it’s about to burst through. She wants to scream, but then they’ll all know, and they’ll do what’s best for her, the same they always do. But if she doesn’t, she’ll hurt Finnick – or not-Finnick, because they’re one and the same now and that doesn’t seem like it should be possible, but it is – and no, she can’t, that’s not who she is, but when has that ever mattered?

In the Arena, Annie Cresta, was that you?

It’s pitiful, she’s pitiful, for all she can do is whimper. The shadows’ dance becomes more lively, for they feed on her, everything good leaking out of her to fuel their torture further. She can see their tubes, so much like the ones in the Capitol, the ones the doctors here threaten her with. Colorless plastic, this one pumping the morphling in while another sucks out her joy, another, her sanity, all of it gone forever to leave Annie like one of the shells on the beach: used, empty, discarded.

No, she can’t wake Finnick, not-Finnick, _him_ up. Her fingers dig into her mouth to keep another scream inside, but they’re not enough, and she’s forcing them further in, until the nails dig into her cheeks and she’s not sure the arm and the mouth belong to the same person because it hurts so _much,_ and –

“Annie?” He’s touching her, bare skin to bare skin, and now he’s over her, and no, only the real Finnick’s allowed to touch her like that, no _please –_ “Annie, what’s wrong?”

Her entire body is tight and aching, distance from head to toe longer than it ever has been before,as though she’s been stretched on a rack. Rigid, her muscles refuse to move, to bat him away. But this is the real Finnick, he must be, the door hasn’t opened since they went to sleep. She’s been up, and she would have noticed if anything changed, but nothing’s the same. “Annie, come on, you need to get to a doctor.”

“No!” she screams, all the hurt coming out with that single word.

The lights come on, blindingly bright, and she’s on fire. “Oh fuck, did you do that?” He must see the blood coming out of her mouth, and maybe it’s hers, but she’s spilled so much over the years that even she isn’t sure anymore.

In either case, she did do it, so it’s only honest to nod, jerky and painful and not how getting better is supposed to be. They say she’s getting better, when she goes to the doctors. Annie’s too kind to tell them otherwise. He pulls her fingers out of her mouth, and they’re stained red, and their, her, blood will get all over the bedspread and sully the doctor’s too-clean white offices, and –

“I – I can’t go.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Her laughter tastes bitter. “I already did.” It’s not funny, but it is.

Finnick - it has to be him, it just has to – gets a little closer. “I’m going to keep an eye on you, all right? If it gets worse, I have to call the doctors.” He still hasn’t let go of her hands, and he pulls them closer to his chest.

“No.”

“I have to.”

“Finnick, no.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, and she wonders if he’s going to pull it out. That might feel nice, to get rid of all of it and then there would be another way out for all the thoughts she doesn’t want to think. “Annie, if you’re going to get hurt, I have to call the doctors. I can’t let that happen.”

“I hate them.”

Finnick pauses at that, but only for a moment. “But I love you.”


	33. For Better or For Worse

"Hey, Annie?"

"Yes?"

"I feel like we should do something."

She looked up from her book and peered at him over the glasses that had started to become necessary over these last few years. "Do you have anything in mind?"

Finnick shrugged. "Not really. Maybe get out of town for a few days? Ronan and Maggie are old enough now to handle Dylan for a couple days, so we wouldn't have to worry about that. Could be fun." He wiggled his eyebrows, and she sat up to kiss his cheek.

"You're a cutie, Odair."

"At least I'm good for something, right?"

"You might be getting a little ahead of yourself there." He frowned and reached over to poke her in the ribs, but she pushed his hand away before he could complete his objective. "So," she said, the word long and drawn-out as she moved to pin his hand under her back and stretch out with her legs over his and her torso taking up the rest of the couch. "Got any places you're thinking about? And what prompted this anyway?"

He shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it yet. Just came to mind a second ago that these last few weeks have seemed kinda dead."

"Definitely." She nodded. "I don't get it – February and March always seem so busy. What's up with this year?" She took off her glasses - that shouldn't be so distracting, really it shouldn't - and put them down beside her. "I mean, I know Dylan's not doing the play this year, so of course things are going to be a little less busy, but it shouldn't make that much of a difference, should it?"

"I wouldn't think so." The weeks between the winter solstice and the arrival of spring were always long ones in District Four. Thick fog greeted him every morning when he headed out on the boats, and the sun had disappeared by the time he came in for the night. Dull and grey and nothing like Four was supposed to be, but at least there were usually things to look forward to – _oh._ Wait, had they? He counted back the days in his head. Yeah, definitely. "It's March fourth."

"I think so. Why? Finn, what's wrong?" He knew the exact moment she realized what he had from her laughter. He couldn't help but join in.

"We both forgot our own anniversary. Oh gosh, we even talked about it right before Valentine's Day. How'd we even manage that one?" she said in between giggles.

"Well, I think we know where we lost something in February."

"March. Our anniversary is the first of March." Even worse than he'd thought, then. Warmth clustered in his cheeks and ears. "You must be getting old on me, with a memory like that, Odair. I'll have to trade you in for a newer model."

"Excuse you? I wasn't the only one who forgot." She stuck out her tongue at him. "And what would you want some gorgeous twenty-five-year-old who unquestioningly does everything you say when you could have me?"

"Hmm. I could probably think of a few things." With his free hand, he playfully flicked her leg. In response, she pulled him down sideways so that he was lying next to her. "On the other hand, I would probably have to start shaving my legs again."

"Life's just full of hard trade-offs, isn't it?"

"And he might not make as good of a space heater as you do."

He kissed her forehead. "Told you I was useful."

"Happy anniversary, Odair. Don't be insolent." Despite her words, she was smiling when wriggled up a bit for a kiss.

Finnick chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. Happy late anniversary to you too."


	34. Bunker Mentality

I hear another boom from above, this one closer and louder than the others. As with every blast before it, there's an instant of terror where everyone in the bunker tenses, waiting for the concrete around them to crumble and bury us, but this bomb causes nothing more than a shower of dust. I can feel the people around me relaxing, but I can't, not now that I finally understand that everything Peeta has been through in the last several weeks has been nothing more than Snow torturing me.

Next to me, Finnick has not moved. He still looks down at the picture in his hand, which he's somehow kept perfectly clean despite having obviously not showered for days. He has allowed his hair to turn greasy and his breath to go foul, but he won't let anything dirty his little magazine clipping of Annie Cresta. I'm not sure I would want anyone to love me that much. "What's she like?" I ask. At first, I don't think he realizes I've spoken, so I ask again.

This time, he turns to look at me. "Annie?" I nod. "Do you want to see her?"

Before I can say yes, he passes me his treasured little photo. "She's very beautiful," I say more to be polite than anything else, but as I study the image, I realize it's true.

For the first time since he left the Arena, Finnick smiles. "She's smart, too. You'd like her."

"I'm sure I will."

"That's an old picture, from her Victory Tour, I think. She looks different now. Her hair's a lot longer, almost all the way down her back." I don't really care what Annie looks like, but Finnick looks so happy talking about her that I don't have the heart to say anything. "She doesn't look very happy in this picture, does she?"

"No, not at all."

"She likes it better in District Four. The people in the Capitol try to make themselves beautiful to hide how ugly they are on the inside, but it's not enough. It's better at home."

I doubt he's still talking about Annie, and I can't listen to him complain about the Capitol, not when he sleeps with anyone willing to give up a secret in the Capitol while claiming to be in love with a woman back home in Four. "I'm going to make sure Prim and my mom are all right. I'll see you later, Finnick." I've never felt guiltier than when I get up and leave him alone with his knots and picture to rejoin my family.


	35. The Ray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for animal abuse. Inspired by Chardin's The Ray (1827).

At first, he had thought a cat or a dog would be perfect. But even strays might be missed, and he couldn’t risk that.

A ray seemed better. He liked rays. They glided through the water, almost as if they were flying through it rather than swimming. Also, they kind of looked like big, grey butterflies had pancake babies. This one’s skin was smooth under his fingers in a way most scales could never be. From above, rays looked invincible, but their undersides were soft, the skin thin enough that he could make out the organs beneath.

He didn’t want to do this, but that was kind of the point. Finnick liked children too.

He grabbed the knife he’d stolen from the kitchen on his way out this morning. Dad woke up earlier than Mom, and he might have noticed if one of his fishing knives had disappeared. It was probably better this way. The kitchen knife made it feel more like the real thing and less like fishing. He had killed for food before, and for money too. That wasn’t hard anymore, but those were just fish. Rays were fish too, he supposed, but they were special, and if he could do this, then he could do it in the Games.

Murder had a nasty taste to it, so he wouldn’t call it that. Practice sounded better.

Finnick didn’t want the poor thing to suffer for too long. It had already been out of the water for a couple minutes, and its thrashing had died down. He located what looked like a heart and plunged the knife in. Maybe he’d been wrong, because it didn’t die as fast as he thought it would, but there was no going back now. He tried again, then again, blindly stabbing at the body spread beneath him until it couldn’t possibly be alive anymore.

This would probably be easier if it didn’t still look like it was smiling at him.

The seagulls squawked behind him. Finnick wondered if they were waiting for him to be done so they could have their fill. He couldn’t eat the ray. Even though Four sent a few to the Capitol to be served up as a delicacy in the fanciest restaurants, he didn’t want to take it home. That would make it more like hunting for food and less like what he was going to do in the Arena. When he got up, sparing the ray one last glance before he began his walk home, the birds flocked to the feast Finnick had left for them.

He’d expected to figuratively have blood on his hands. For some reason, the literal part took him by surprise.

Finnick wiped his hands off on his pants. With any luck, Mom would assume it was from the boats. He had all the plausible deniability he could ask for. The sun was just beginning to inch its way over the horizon, marking the end of curfew hours. He still shouldn’t be all the way out here, but even the most devoted Peacekeeper would hesitate to shoot a twelve-year-old who wasn’t doing anything to hurt anybody. As long as they didn’t see the kitchen knife, which he hadn’t yet bothered to clean, he’d be fine.

The walk home wasn’t long enough to collect his thoughts, but when he showed up for training that afternoon, he came with a new assurance that he could succeed. He didn’t have to like it – really, it was better that he didn’t – but he knew now that he could kill.


	36. Sandsitting

It hit her like a freight train. A perfectly pleasant afternoon nap morphed into a nightmare as her temperature skyrocketed. The fan above the bed sprouted a Siamese twin, and even when she clapped a hand over her eyes, the colors one sees only in darkness swirled around, twisting her stomach along with them.

Her instincts told her no, keep still, but ignoring them, she pulled herself up into seated position, adjusting her pillow along the headboard just in case she fainted. When that didn't make anything worse, she got up and trudged downstairs to the kitchen, hand always tight on the railing. She had hoped the hot flashes wouldn't be as bad the second time around. Naturally, the world had flashed her a giant middle finger and made them worse. Oh well, they weren't anything that couldn't be made better with some ice water and a bit of extra rest.

See, it was getting better already. She took a long sip from the glass, then pressed the smooth, cold surface to her forehead. Annie sighed at the relief it offered.

Once the room no longer felt like an oven, she decided to go check on Finnick and Ronan. It'd been awfully sweet of Finn to start coming home for a couple hours in the middle of the day so she could nap. These little breaks had become a lifesaver these last three months. Though her first trimester had gone all right, things had gone downhill fast at twenty weeks. Ever since, she'd been a mess of nerves, morning sickness, and hot flashes, and she'd needed every second of rest she could get.

The screen door to the porch fought her attempts to open it, but eventually, it budged. She'd take that as a testament to her iron will. At the bottom of the staircase that led from their back deck to the beach sat Finnick and their seventeen-month-old son. With the sound of the waves, they hadn't heard her come out, and Annie wasn't inclined to alert them to her presence just yet. She enjoyed watching them play together too much to interrupt.

Finnick and Ronan sat no more than a few inches apart, backs towards Annie. It took her a moment or two to figure out how Finn was keeping Ronan occupied. When she realized the premise of their little game, she rolled her eyes. They took turns grabbing a handful of sand and pouring it over the other's legs. Ronan giggled at the tickling feeling, and Annie just knew that Finnick was grinning like an idiot through the whole thing.

She snorted when Ronan took his handful of sand and dumped it over his head. Finnick turned at the sound, smiling when he saw her. He tapped Ronan's shoulder, and her heart sang when she saw how her baby beamed at her. "Mama!" It had been almost a year and a half, but the immediate, intense love she felt for her son still amazed her. She made her way down the rest of the steps.

"How was your nap?" Finnick asked.

"Not so good. Hot flash." She kissed the tops of the two matching bronze heads. "And how are we doing down here?"

"Pretty good. What do you think, Ronan? Having fun?"

Ronan babbled something in return. She leaned down to scoop him up in her arms, but Finnick stopped her. "I think we've got some digging to do." And they did, for Finnick must have been quite enthusiastic about burying their son.

Annie shook her head. "You get to handle bath time tonight."

"Hey, I figured out a way to keep him in one place for more than five minutes!"

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she asked as she started digging Ronan out of the sand pile Finnick had built over his legs.

"Mrs. Odair, I want you to know that I am very impressive."

"Of course you are, dear."


	37. Bedtime Rituals

"Mommy, I need some water."

"You just had a glass of water. Come on, it's bedtime." Oh dear, there was the bottom lip. Had he not learned yet that that trick didn't work on her? His dad might be an easy touch, but at four (and a half, he'd be sure to remind her), Ronan should really understand what was likely to work with which parent. "Nope, bedtime."

"Ple-e-ease?" he stretched the word out as far as he could. Good strategy, since it made for an extra few seconds before lights-off.

Annie shook her head.

"But Maggie got a glass of water!"

"And so did you, right after you brushed your teeth. If you drink any more, you're going to have to get up during the night to go potty." When had words like 'potty' reentered her vocabulary? She and Finnick had decided before Ronan was born that they weren't going to use baby talk. No, their children would grow up using the correct words, giving them a head start on school compared to less-devoted parents' children. Needless to say, that (as well as many of their other pre-baby decisions, including not using pacifiers and never ever swearing in front of the children) had disappeared within weeks.

Meh. They seemed to be turning out fine anyway, at least so far. And fuck was that _at least so far_ terrifying.

Yes, but not the focus of this conversation. "I want to make sure you get a good night's sleep so you can have lots of fun at preschool tomorrow."

"But I'm not tired." Such exasperation. She was amazed such a little body could fit all of it. Though, really, Ronan wasn't all that little anymore. He'd definitely taken after Finnick in the height category, the lucky kid.

"Sometimes, we don't realize we're tired until we try really hard to go to sleep." Annie should feel ashamed of herself for telling complete and utter lies, but she really couldn't bring herself to care that much.

He blinked and pursed his lips, and she managed to stop herself from laughing. "But I already know I'm not tired."

"Give it another try. 'Night." She kissed his forehead and started out of his room.

"Will you tell me a story?"

She and Finnick had also made a commitment not to ignore their child when they spoke, as it had bugged the heck out of both of them when their own parents had done it. Naturally, that had been one of the few they'd actually stuck to (though Annie knew she'd broken it a few times, and she would bet just about anything that Finnick had too). "Not tonight, sweetie."

Ronan tried the puppy dog eyes again. "What about the one where you and Daddy meet?"

"That's a long story." She didn't realize until the words were out of her mouth that there was an implicit agreement to tell a shorter story in there. Wouldn't it be handy to be able to rewind the world five, ten seconds and kick yourself before you do something stupid?

"Yeah." Oh good, maybe he hadn't picked up on it.

"And it's one best left for another day." She blew a kiss to him this time, because getting anywhere close to that bed would result in being stuck for another half hour's-worth of questions, complaints, and requests. Then she flicked the lights off and retreated into the hallway and downstairs to the family room.

Finnick looked up from his book as she entered. "Was Ronan being difficult?"

"You know how he is about bedtime these days," she said, sitting down next to him. "What're you reading?"

He showed her the cover. "He's a little stinker, isn't he?"

"I wonder where he gets it from." Upstairs, she heard little feet, and she turned to Finnick with a sickly-sweet smile. "Y'know, sweetie, I think someone might need your help. Maybe some water, or to check under the bed for monsters, or…"

"He's been trying to get to sleep for _hours_ ," Finnick replied in mock-seriousness. He sighed. "You want me to cover this one?"

"If you want to still have a son after tonight, I think it'd be a good idea."


	38. With Benefits

He isn't sure what possessed him to kiss her. _Yes, you are,_ that little voice he never quite managed to shut up whispered. _It's the same reason you always 'happen to be passing by' when she's sitting out on the dock, the same reason you invited her tonight._

To his surprise, she doesn't push him away. Rather the opposite, actually. It must be the breakup, or the sunset, or even the general good will that a glass and a half of red wine provides, but he won't argue.

Annie gives him another, shorter kiss before she pulls away, her hand never leaving his cheek. "More?" she asks, her eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation.

He answers wordlessly, leaning in for another. Her lips are soft, her breath warm, and nimble fingers wander from his cheek to trace the contours of his neck, shoulders, arms. She traces a circle around his shirt's top button, and he undoes it, their lips separating as she her eyes and fingertips follow the path of skin he exposes as button after button slips from its hole.

"We should take this upstairs," she says, and she's right. His porch is a beautiful place to sit and watch the sunset, but it's also in full view of anyone walking along the beach. They walk hand in hand to his bedroom. They talk during the act, of course, but it's all logistics, none of the tender words he longs for.

* * *

After, she runs her fingers through her dark hair, now beautifully disheveled, and smiles at him. "That's low, Odair. Waiting until I break up with him to make your move? I'm disappointed."

It's not real disappointment, of course it's not, she's smiling, but he flinches all the same. And then that Finnick, the one he prefers to leave in the Capitol, emerges. He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "And how else was I supposed to seduce you?" His voice is smooth and rich, and he hates everything about it.

"Could've gone for the real challenge and tried when I was happily dating. Or were you not sure you could've managed that one?"

"You were never really going to be happy with him when I was around." It's presented as a joke, one she can take or leave, but he prays she'll notice the hope shining through underneath.

Annie snorts. "Yeah, Odair. You know how us women are. Seagulls, each and every one of us. Can't focus on anything else when there's a shiny, pretty boy like you about."

"Well, I can't say that I blame you. I am rather distracting." He runs his fingers over her back, and she arches into his touch. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is something beyond the physical there. He knows better than to bet on it.

"That you are." Annie kisses the tip of his nose, and it's certainly strange, but also feather-light and sweet in a way that leaves him grinning like an idiot. "So," she says, "Are we going to do this again?"

"Now?"

He can't help but notice that her breasts shake just a bit when she laughs. "Let's say that I'm willing to be the semi-on call, friendly neighborhood vagina if you're willing to be the semi-on call, friendly neighborhood dick."

"And here I was, assuming you already thought of me as the neighborhood dick."

"Your assumptions are pretty good. So, what do you think?"

"I think that sounds really good." If he wants to add anything, now's the time, but as he always does, he lets the moment and opportunity slip away to the land of could have beens.

"Great." She turns away from him to look outside, where night has completely overtaken the sunset. "I should probably get going." He tastes regret in her words, and it would be so easy to ask her to stay, but neither of them is ready for that.

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

"It's two houses away. I think I can manage." She gets up to grab her clothes, which are scattered around the room. He puts on his pants after she tosses them at him. "Don't worry, the window's open. If anyone tries to jump me, you'll hear the screams."

"Theirs. Not yours."

"Naturally." Annie checks the room once more, making certain she hasn't forgotten anything. She waves when she's ready. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, love." It's as close as he'll let himself get.


	39. Chapter 39

Summer break lasted thirteen weeks. Due to a fishing excursion he had planned for the last week of the summer and the obligatory visit home the first week, he only had to live here for eleven of them.

Unfortunately, he had already used up his first week away from his roommates. Finnick really should've planned ahead and scheduled his visit for later in the summer, when he could no longer stand the people around him. However, aside from a bumpy first couple meetings, he had always gotten along well with Johanna. He had seen no reason to believe that her friends would be any different.

Different was an understatement. It had taken him about two hours to realize that Jo's roommates were fucking insane. Not too hard to get along with, thank God, but still bat shit crazy. Katniss practically had a full arsenal stuck away in her bedroom. If it hadn't been comprised mostly of bow and arrows (and Jo hadn't told him that Katniss was a world-class archer), he would've called the police on her.

Annette or, as she preferred, Annie Cresta made for a very different problem. He doubted Jo could explain why that level of interest in the occult was perfectly normal. Finnick swore half her books had pentagrams on the cover.

But try as he might, he couldn't stay in his broom closet of a bedroom forever. A man did have to eat once in a while. Maybe, if he'd timed it right, he wouldn't have to –

"Hey, Finnick. What's up?"

Shit. "Not too much, Annie. You?"

She shrugged, but her hands continued to shuffle the deck of cards. Oh great, Tarot again. Well, he supposed it was that or Ouija, and at least Tarot wasn't actively trying to recruit ghost-demon things to show up in their living room. "Want to play?"

"You play games with those?"

"Well, no, but I'd read your fortune."

"No thanks." He grabbed some cereal and milk from the fridge. He had planned the meal because it allowed him to run back to his room as soon as it was poured, but curiosity got the best of him. "Do you think that stuff is real?"

She nodded. "Do you?"

"No."

"Then why won't you let me read your fortune?"

Finnick shrugged and took an enormous bite of cereal, mulling it over as he chewed. No, of course he didn't believe in magic or the occult or anything like that. It was all bullshit made up to part fools and their money. "Let's suppose it is real. Why would I want to tempt the devil like that?"

Annie held out the deck for him to examine. "You think I should burn these, send 'em back to hell where they belong?" He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.

"Don't tempt me."

"Catholic schoolboy, huh?"

"You got it."

"Oh, really?" Annie was quiet for a moment. "Does it bother you that I do this kind of stuff?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm not sure I believe in any of it."

"So what you're telling me is that you're an equal opportunity cynic."

"You know, Annie, I'm starting to wonder if you really do have some kind of second sight."

"Sure you don't want to give it a try?"

That wide-eyed, tanned skin, and freckles thing was hard to resist. Still, he managed to find a way. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Okay." She set the deck down in three parts and started to flip cards over.

"Hey, I said no!"

Annie looked up at him through thick, dark eyelashes. "I know. I'm doing a reading for myself now."

"Have you ever done a reading for me?"

"Perhaps." What kind of an answer was that?

"What did it say?"

"That you were going to find love very soon."

Finnick snorted. "Well, that's bullshit." She glared up at him, and he felt he had to elaborate. "Very soon isn't a well-defined term. Isn't that what Tarot and fortune tellers always say? That you're going to find love and be rich and all other types of fantastic things? Anything to keep the money coming."

Annie slapped the cards down against the table with more force than was probably necessary. "You know what, Finnick? Let's put some money on it. Fifty bucks says you fall in love this summer."

"Just in the next ten weeks?"

"Is that when school starts again? Sure."

He calculated how many hours of work it'd take to pay off fifty bucks. Sheesh, four and a half hours of hard labor to prove Annie wrong? Worth it. "You've got yourself a deal, Cresta. I hope you're good for it."

"I think it's you who should be worried, Odair."


	40. Automat

Annie triple-checked that she had enough money before lining up the four silver coins in their slots. The machine whirred, and the little plastic door popped open with a satisfying click. There were people waiting behind her, but Annie savored that moment of pulling the dish out of its little icebox nest, the sting of the cold metal turning her fingers pink. The pre-made sundaes developed a thin film of ice after sitting in the freezers for hours, and her mother had informed her again and again that they weren't as good as the ones that were made fresh at the counter, but those didn't have the novelty these ones possessed.

Ignoring the glares from the other patrons, she practically skipped back to the booth. Her parents wouldn't yell. It was very hard to make Mom and Dad mad on reaping day.

She wasn't a little kid. She understood that the Games were bad, that reaping day wasn't supposed to be fun. Still, the ceremony was over, and she didn't have to think about the scary part of it for two years, so at least for now, it could be all about the fun of getting dressed up and going into town. Best of all, reaping day meant two-scoop sundaes with cherries and sprinkles and chocolate sauce.

Some of Mom's lipstick had worn off with her first bite of ice cream, but it didn't make the ring of red around her mouth any less pretty as she smiled. "What'd you find, sweetie?"

Annie held out her sundae for inspection, but not before she popped one of the ripe red cherries into her mouth.

"Looks good," Mom said as Annie carefully set down the dish and climbed into the booth across from her. It was still a couple inches too tall for her ten-year-old body. Maybe her feet wouldn't dangle above the floor when they came back next year.

"Yeah, I'm glad Annie's so good at sharing." Dad pulled her sundae towards him.

"Hey, that's mine!"

He pulled her up against his side and kissed the top of her head. "You think I'd actually steal your sundae?"

"Yeah."

"Good, 'cause I paid for it, so it's really mine." Laughter rumbled in his chest, and he was warm where the air conditioning was almost too cold, and though she wouldn't have admitted it, Annie was grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

She shook her head. "I can't. Even thinking about eating makes me feel sick."

"Not even something little? I bet we could find you a pretzel or something." Finnick started to pull her towards the downtown, where many of the shopkeepers had set up tents full of food and pretty knickknacks to lure in the visitors that came for the reaping. If her heart hadn't been beating so fast that she could hear little besides her pulse, she probably would have thought it pretty.

She batted his hand away. "Finnick, cut it out. If I eat something, I'm going to throw up."

He turned to look her straight in the eye. "And if you stand in the sun for an hour on an empty stomach, you're going to faint in front of the entire district." He let the truth of that sink in for a second. "Annie, come on. Just try something. It might settle your stomach." The tone there, as it so often did these days, was far too personal for just neighbors. Annie tried not to think about when that had started.

"No."

"Well, I want something. Come on, this place'll be cool, at least."

She hadn't been to the ice cream parlor in two years. Like most things in Four, it never changed too much. Maybe there was a little more wear on the red booths, and maybe the chrome didn't shine quite as brightly, but that could just as easily be her memory playing tricks on her.

"You're sure you don't want anything?"

"Finnick, it's nine-thirty."

"So? I like ice cream."

She shook her head and sat down. Music pumped in from hidden speakers, and Annie tapped her fingers along with the rhythm as she waited. It didn't take long for him to come back. "Didn't find anything?"

"Nah, they're bringing it out."

"Huh." They'd never offered that before, but then again, she hadn't been a Victor the last time she visited.

"Mister Odair and Miss Cresta." The owner smiled as he set an enormous dish in front of them. She counted eight scoops, one of each type sold here.

Annie glared at Finnick while he thanked the owner. "I said I didn't want anything, and you can't make me eat it," she hissed the instant he was out of earshot.

He shrugged. "I'll finish off anything you don't want."

"You'll make yourself sick."

"I guess we'll match, then." Oh gods, did she ever want to strangle him. Still, she found herself picking up a spoon all the same.

He wasn't right. The ice cream didn't make her feel better, not even a little bit. Annie should've seen that coming a million miles away. But still, it didn't make anything worse, and she might just have to come back for some more of that cherry flavor sometime.


	41. Long Distance

He popped open the first button on his pants. "So, what are you wearing?" He kept his voice low, allowing just a hint of a purr to creep in.

"Finnick, cut it out. We're not doing this right now."

His breath hitched. The phone burned at his fingers as shame crept up, threatening to drown him. "Annie, what's wrong?" _Please, love, please tell me I didn't hurt you._ But he had, because he was a monster, and that was what monsters did. They hurt, they ripped, they tore and scratched and bit at everyone around them until some brave knight slayed them. Only after they died could anyone be happy.

_No, stop that._ "Annie?"

She sighed. "Finnick, don't worry about it. It's just that it's Mardi Gras, there are about thirty of our family members in the house right now, and I'm just really not in the mood."

_She didn't need an excuse, bastard._ "Well, in that case, you should definitely tell me what you're wearing - in a purely platonic, interested friend way, of course."

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Of course." _You're filthy and disgusting and you'll never deserve her._ "Well, let's see… it's a green dress, hits right around the knee, has kind of coppery little beads on the straps, nothing too crazy. I think you've seen it before. I'm pretty sure I wore it to Mandy's wedding last year."

"Two years ago." He remembered it well. He couldn't focus on the ceremony, for the sun had been setting over the ocean, and the reds, golds, and violets had reflected so beautifully off Annie's hair and dress. _You don't deserve her. Someday, she'll realize it and leave you for someone better._ Finnick had kept stealing glances at her, and he'd thought he was being sneaky until she'd elbowed him in the stomach. _You're a pervert, a creep._ After that, he'd done his best to keep his eyes forward for the rest of the ceremony, trying not to think about lavishing attention with his lips and tongue on the red dots the beads left behind on her chest and back. _Why would she want you?_

"Really? Oh, their baby – Caroline? I think that's it, it sounds right, anyway - already had her first birthday this winter. Yeah, I guess you're right."

"You don't have to sound so bummed out about that," he teased. _You're only going to scare her away faster._

"Who says I'm bummed about you being right? I do have a good portion of both of our extended families in the house with me right now."

Finnick grinned. "Are you suggesting that entertaining twenty-some guests isn't your idea of a good time? I guess I'd always thought of you as a bit of a social butterfly." _Liar._ "So, how'd you manage to slip away?"

"I excused myself to use the restroom and just haven't bothered to come back yet. Mags is holding court for the moment – I don't think anyone's missed me yet."

"I miss you."

She laughed. "I miss you too." The line was silent for a moment, the kind of silence that let the demons come out to play. "Got any idea of when you're going to be home?"

_They'll never let you go home. They'll keep you here forever, until you love them and thank them for how generous they've been to you. You want this._ "I don't know. I know I've got some things," _nightmares,_ "going on these next couple days, but after that I'm not sure. Soon, I hope."

"Your parents were asking," she offered in explanation. _Annie doesn't want you._ "Do you want to talk to them? I just saw your mom right before I came up here."

"Not right now. Maybe later." _You're a bad son. Maybe they wish they'd never had you. Would anything be for the worse because of it?_

"All right."

That silence again. Finnick remembered playing tag as a child, how each player had been allowed to choose a base where they couldn't be tagged. As long as he was with her, nothing could get to him. It was a temporary invincibility, and one that could _and will someday_ disappear in an instant, but it was his, and he would cling to it with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Still, some niceties had to be observed. "Should you be getting back to the party?"

"Probably pretty soon here. The sun's starting to go down, so it won't be long before everyone wants to head down to the town." In the Capitol, the sun shined brightly. Dusk would not even begin to fall for at least another hour. He bit down hard on his lower lip. If it hurt badly enough, he wouldn't have to think about things like that.

"Yeah, you should get back. See you later, Annie."

Judging by the silence, she wanted to argue with him _no she doesn't, she just wants to be finished with you_ , but she sighed. "Alright. You take care of yourself, okay? I want you back in one piece."

_No she doesn't. She wouldn't care if you came back shattered into a million pieces._ Finnick forced himself to laugh. "I'll do my best."

"And Finnick?"

"Yes?"

"Remember that I love you." _But only for now._

He smiled. "I can't forget that."

"Good."

"And I love you too." He couldn't even begin to express how true that was.

"Even better."

"I guess it's time to say goodbye?"

"For now."


	42. Born on the Bayou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mild gore.

She brandished the sword at her subjects. "I have the power now. No one will dare defy my rule. Now, bow, peasants!"

"Annie, put the stick down. You're being stupid."

"No one made you the boss!"

Coral rolled her eyes. She had been doing that a lot lately. "Annie, come on. I don't want you to accidentally poke someone with that thing."

"I'm not going to poke someone!" She glared at her older sister as she lowered the stick. Annie wasn't about to put it down. Most of the trees in Four were scraggly little things that looked more like giant weeds than the big trees in the other districts, not very good for growing sword-sticks. She wouldn't find another prize like this one – about a meter long, almost perfectly straight, and just the right width for her nine-year-old hands to wrap around – for a long time. Maybe not ever. "See? I'm being very careful."

Grubby little hands grabbed for her sword, and she pulled it away. "Just because I don't get to play with it doesn't mean you get to touch it, creep."

"And be nice," Coral added. "It wouldn't kill you to let Colin touch the stick, you know."

Colin gave her a big, shit-eating grin. She wasn't supposed to say that out loud, but nobody would know if she thought it or whispered it really soft. But she couldn't do that now. Coral was such a loudmouth that she'd tattle on her for sure. "What if I don't want to risk it?"

"Just keep walking, Annie. I want to get home quickly."

"I don't," Colin chimed in. Annie wasn't sure why he bothered. It wasn't like Coral would listen to anything either of them said. Ever since she started eighth grade, she had been really bossy, like Annie and Colin were little kids that she was in charge of. And since Colin was only seven, Annie guessed that made sense for him, but she could take care of herself without Coral trying to be Mom all the time.

Her older sister just kept walking as though Colin had never said anything. Annie kicked at the pebbles that formed the path as she followed along, aiming for Coral's ankles. Her bookbag banged against her back with every step, and it hurt, but she wasn't going to ask to stop. She didn't want to agree with Coral, but getting home early did sound good.

Kicking rocks got boring after a while. Good thing she still had her sword to play with. They were passing by the rice paddies now. Annie liked to play in them after they'd been drained, but during this part of the year, Dad and the other farmers flooded them. Right now, the bottoms of the paddies were so muddy that they would pull the shoes right off your feet if you stepped into them. Her old shoes, the grey ones, were still probably down there somewhere.

This time of year, the narrow raised paths through the paddies became her playground. They could be anything: tightropes, the route marked on a treasure map, bands of solid rock surrounded by deadly lava. Today, she was a wizard hiking a narrow mountain path on a very secret, very important mission. If she failed, the entire country would be in great peril. One misstep, and she would be sent tumbling over the edge to a certain death, and her knees weren't all they used to be. Lucky thing she had her trusty walking stick. The two of them had been through a lot together, even some situations scarier than the one they found themselves in now, and it hadn't let her down yet. Before each step, she poked the area with her walking stick, and more than once, the ground beneath it crumbled at the light pressure. She shuddered to think what could have happened if she was less careful.

One second, Colin was walking right in front of her, just lie he did every day. The next, something big and dark lunged out of the water with a roar, and it dragged Colin down into the water with it.

Annie heard screaming as she jumped into the water with the thing – an alligator, she now realized. It had its jaws clamed shut around Colin's leg, and red ran down those teeth and into the water. "Let go!" One of its golden, reptilian eyes focused on her, and Annie knew that she would be next.

With a scream, she swung her stick toward the creature, connecting with the scales on its back. The alligator hardly flinched. It shifted away from her. If it got much further, it and Colin would be gone forever.

On her next strike, Annie drove the point of her stick into the alligator's eye. Shadows devoured her as it arched up in the water, towering over her, and her heart stopped at its roar. The gator dropped back into the water with an enormous splash. Annie closed her eyes, waiting for death to come for her, hoping it would not hurt too bad.

There were hands pulling on her clothes. "Annie. Annie, get out of the water. Come on, you need to get out before it comes back." Coral's voice brought her back to reality. "Annie, climb out. I can't go in there, or we'll both be stuck."

She tried to move, but her feet felt as though they had been glued to the bottom. Coral shook her head. "Leave your shoes behind. They don't matter. You need to run." The entire world went still when she saw Colin. Blood oozed out from his leg, puddling in the dirt and turning it to mud. Something white poked through the cut, and it took her a long moment to realize it was bone.

Coral hoisted him up. "Annie, you need to run ahead and find help." Finally, something snapped into place, and Annie sprinted towards home.

* * *

She looked up when she heard the door open. "Is Colin going to be okay?" she asked her father as he stepped inside.

He shook his head. "I don't know, sweetie." Today, Dad looked older than he ever had. Deep bags hung under his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. "He's going to live. That's the important thing."

"What about his leg? Are the doctors going to fix it?"

"They're gonna try. They're not sure quite yet how bad the damage is." He sat down and started to take off his shoes. She padded over to him and crawled into his lap, burying her head in his chest. Strong arms surrounded her, and for the first time in hours, Annie didn't worry that the gator was coming for her next. Dad kissed the top of her head. "You're a brave girl, you know that?"

She said nothing. Annie didn't want to argue with him, but all she had done for the last ten hours was stare at the ceiling and cry, too scared to do anything else.

"No, you are. They sent out search parties after the attack, hunted down the gator, and you now what? It was blind in one eye. The eye had been completely ruined. If you hadn't stabbed it, they said, there's no way it would have let Colin go." He moved her away from his chest just a few inches so he could look into her eyes. "Your bravery and quick thinking saved him, Annie. Then you ran and got help, which is just as important. I'm so proud of you, sweetie, and whatever else happens, I need you to know that."

"Thank you." That was what you were supposed to say when somebody complimented you. She searched for something else to say. "Can I see Colin now?"

He nodded. "I'm here to get the two of you and pick up some things. You go and get Coral. I'll get our stuff together."

* * *

Colin would have to stay in the hospital for at least another week. They'd had to amputate his leg at the knee. Annie had cried, but not as much as Mom had. He slept a lot, sometimes because he was tired, but mostly because the medicine they gave him to make it hurt less also put him to sleep. Even when he was awake, he looked tired and pale and sad, not at all like he had been before.

After two days, Mom made Annie and Coral return to school. Having them at the hospital a day wasn't helping anybody, she'd said. Best to get your minds off of things for a few hours a day.

Annie didn't learn anything the first day. The teacher talked, but Annie didn't hear anything, for there wasn't room in her head for anything other than Colin. On the second day, she tried harder to listen, but she still didn't remember very much at the end of the day. Mamie and Alice tried to get her to play with them during recess, but Annie didn't feel like it. She didn't even kick at the rocks as she and Coral walked home.

The instant she stepped inside, Annie felt something off. She looked at Coral, who shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. Annie nodded, and they closed the door very quietly behind them before tiptoeing to the kitchen door. When she pressed her ear against it, she heard her father's voice, too quiet for her to make out his words.

Then came another voice, male, deeper than Dad's. "I hate to bring this up, but the medical bills are going to start stacking up once this is all said and done. I'm sorry, but we can't help you with those. We can, however, take her out of the house. One less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe. It might not be much, but it'd make a difference."

"I'm not going to sell my daughter and let you and your lot kill her off."

"She wouldn't necessarily be the volunteer. We train four or five girls a year. Only one goes into the Arena."

"Not my Annie." At that, her eyes snapped to Coral, who stared back at her, green eyes wide and scared.

The man wasn't giving up. "If she did end up volunteering, she'd be as prepared as we can possibly make her. Your daughter's already strong, and she's got a good head on her. If she's fending off full-grown gators at nine, imagine what she'll be capable of at eighteen."

"You're not changing my answer."

"Talk it over with your wife, ask Annie what she thinks. You don't have to make a decision today."

"I've already made it."

There was a long silence. "If you want to talk again, you know where to find me. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."

Coral dragged her back a few steps, so by the time the door swung open, it looked like they had only just arrived home. "Hello," she said to the man who came out, a big, tall man Annie remembered seeing somewhere before but didn't know.

"Good day, ladies." He barely glanced at Coral before fixing his eyes on Annie. She only barely managed to stop herself from shuddering. "You're Annie, right?"

She nodded.

"I've heard a lot about you these last couple days. Good job with that gator."

"Thank you."

He nodded at Coral as he stepped outside. Her older sister locked the door as soon as it swung shut behind him.


	43. And Hide Where Death Can't Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings for blood, violence, and mental illness.

She had tempted the other woman towards her. _As the mermaids sing for the sailors, drawing them near so they might pull them under. But the sailors are not stupid, not like you, and thee mermaids always lose in the end._ Annie's lost too, so lost, and there's no way home now, not when she doesn't remember which way is up anymore and isn't sure that it matters.

And the mermaid can see how stupid the girl must have been to think that she could win. She sees her before her district, proud and strong and nothing like the woman she once was. Pride before a fall, she knows those words as well as she knows herself. _Not well at all. Who is Annie Cresta?_ And they're right, so right, just like the others always are, _but they don't matter now. It's only you and me, just as it's always been meant to be. Break the dam, and the stream returns to the river._ The dam. The dam broke, she remembers it. It was real _but now it's not_ , she felt it, tried to climb it to see if she could get to the other side. _Don't worry, I'm afraid you'll find it soon enough._

Below _or above, or one of any other infinite directions_ , there is a woman. She has dark hair and grey eyes and lips red as blood, and if she were anywhere else, Annie might like very much to kiss her. But though she has no great longing to return to the surface _if there is still a surface_ , her lungs burn _burning underwater. Fire and flood, when you look at them closely, aren't so different, now are they?_ They beg her _did you listen to the Six boy when he begged you?_ to move somewhere, to breathe.

Maybe they have already kissed. There's blood on her lips, after all, blood everywhere, enough to drown her in, and Annie still holds a knife. _But you don't kiss with that, now do you?_ She's waiting, the other woman, waiting for Annie to give up, or to come to her, so she can finish Annie. She will bite and tear and rip. And when she's done, there will be nothing left of Annie for them to fish _no better than a fish now. Look how far you've fallen_ out and send home to her family. _At least you'll be able to go home_. _It's more than you deserve._

And so she swims. Annie swims until her mind spins and she sees the future that could have been _and never will be_ in the bubbles as she exhales. A wedding, a baby, her mother's smile. _It's not real_.

A cannon. It's hers. It has to be hers, because she hasn't seen the other woman move, and it's all a waste, but she keeps swimming _because Death can't catch you if you aren't a good girl who sits still for him_. She follows the bubbles wherever they agree to lead her _blind, as they bring pigs to slaughter,_ for anything is better than staying here. _Here, where nightmares end and reality begins, but no one can quite say where the border lies._

"The Victor of the seventieth…" Never has she so hated Caesar's voice. If she reaches the surface before he finishes, it can't be real. _You still know the difference?_ She can still win.

There's sunlight, up here, bright and blinding and so very wrong _because when the earth shook, you shook with it, and neither of you came back quite right._


	44. Sharing Memories

_"Shara's mom lets her wear lipstick on picture day."_

_"Do I look like Shara's mom to you?" Bad question. With shiny blue-black hair that flowed past her waist and wide blue eyes framed by equally impressive eyelashes, Annie would bet that Seya Vergas had emerged full-formed from the seafoam. Before her seven-year-old daughter could jump on that – and Annie knew better than to think Maggie would pass up that opportunity – she tapped on Dylan's plate. "Come on, eat up."_

_"I'm not hungry."_

_"But you need to eat so you can learn. Food fuels your brain and your body."_

_The pout came out, and Dylan shook his head. "Not hungry." He'd been such an easy baby. Did some kids just put off the Terrible Twos until they were four?_

_"You aren't leaving this table before you've eaten five bites. I get to decide what counts as a bite."_

_"Mom, what if it's just a little bit of –"_

_Time to put her foot down. "I said no, Maggie."_

_"No, you didn't. You just said you didn't look like Shara's mom."_

_"She's right, you know." Of course Ronan would choose now to add his input. He could go days without making so much as a peep during breakfast, even when she tried to drag him into the conversation, but now that breakfast was slipping out of her control, he just had to step in. "You didn't specifically say no," he added._

_"You both know what I meant." She checked the clock. Good, they had eleven minutes before they needed to leave. That should be enough time to do something about the weird curl Ronan had going on over his forehead. Annie normally wouldn't bother, writing off any interesting curls and bumps as Finnick's genes and therefore not her problem, but today was picture day, and that called for a little extra effort. "That bite doesn't count, Dyl - sweetie, what's wrong?"_

_Annie had seen that look enough times to know what was going to happen. She grabbed Dylan under the arms and ran towards the bathroom._

_"Mom, what if I –"_

_"Not now, Maggie!" They almost made it to the toilet. Some hit her foot, but she hardly noticed. It wasn't the first time one of her kids had thrown up on her, and she doubted it'd be the last. She set him down before the toilet and rubbed his back as he coughed. "It's all right, sweetie." Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and her heart hurt. "Shh," she comforted him, "you're going to be okay."_

_"Gross. Is Dylan sick?" Maggie peeked into the bathroom._

_No, he's puking his guts up because he's not sick. Annie bit back the words. No reason to make things worse. "Yes. Can you give him some privacy, please?"_

_Maggie retreated, and Dylan's shoulders stopped shaking under her hands. "Better?" she asked, and he shook his head. Poor thing. "I'm going to go check on your siblings. Can you stay here and call for me if you get sick again?" This got a brave little nod. She kissed the top of his dark head – no fever, a good sign – and returned to the kitchen._

_Ronan was still eating his toast as though nothing unusual had occurred. That boy had an iron stomach. "Ronan, call Mrs. Trawlers and ask if she can drive you and Maggie to school." She fished around under the kitchen sink for the necessary cleaning supplies, pulling out the disinfectant and gloves. The spatula sat in its usual spot at the sink._

_"Mommy, I think I'm gonna throw up again." As she rushed back to the bathroom, she didn't have time to wonder why Maggie was digging through her purse._

* * *

"I still can't believe her teacher didn't make her take it off." All these years later, she remembers in perfect detail Maggie's proud smile as she presented Annie with her school picture. The deep brownish-red would have done nothing for her daughter's golden skin and bronze hair even if applied correctly. Smeared over her lips with all the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old certain they had gotten away with something, it turned an otherwise very nice picture into a complete mess.

"I had a hard enough time with just our three. I can't imagine trying to wrangle twenty at a time."

"Seconded." Annie runs a finger over the photo and turns to Finnick, smiling. "I was so angry at her."

"Not as mad as you were at me for buying the picture."

"We could've had it retaken."

"But it wouldn't have been as memorable."

She frowns at him and settles back into the couch. His arm tightens around her shoulders as she flips to the next page. Annie snorts at the picture of Ronan, his right arm in a cast, grinning as he holds up his eighth-grade diploma with his good hand. "What is this, the album of all the times I wanted to throttle our kids?"

"I thought you wanted our kids to graduate."

"Of course I did. I was talking about that." She points to his cast. "What on earth made him think that riding his bike on the very edge of the pier was a good idea?"

Finnick chuckles. "Fourteen-year-old boys do some stupid stuff. I was one once too, you know."

"Thank goodness I'm not your mother. I never would have survived."

"There are a lot of reasons I'm glad you're not my mother." He's still proud of his come-ons. Finnick leans down to kiss her neck. She smells like the soap in their shower, and he knows the same scent clings to his own body as well.

"That's awful." Nevertheless, Annie leans into the caress, and her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her. But when he starts to edge down the neck of her blouse, she nudges him away. "Maybe later," she answers the question in his eyes. "I want to look through this first." He keeps his head on her shoulder as they flip through years of memories. He's only included the good ones, weddings and birthdays and quiet days at the beach, the ones he wants to hold onto forever. Most of them can be passed with a smile, maybe a quick word or two. A few need more time, contemplation, discussion. And here, in the home they've shared for thirty-five years, thirty of them as a married couple, is the perfect place for all of it.

* * *

_Annie insisted that going through the boxes at the back of the closet was more than enough of an anniversary gift. Some of them had been sitting there since they returned from Thirteen to find what remained of their possessions strewn across the floor. Finnick still didn't know if it had been peacekeepers or looters. Stuffing what remained into boxes was meant as a temporary solution. Later, when they had more time, they would go through everything._

_Sitting in the center of the guest bedroom, surrounded by boxes, Finnick had to wonder when they thought they'd thought they would have more time. Nothing he could do about that now. He picked a box at random and opened it. Some recipe cards, a few letters, and three years' worth of Couture Capitale. He'd forgotten that Annie's stylist used to send those. Finnick set a few of the magazines aside – Dylan might get a kick out of those - and binned the rest of it. One box down. Way too many to go._

_He smiled when he opened the fourth, for Annie and Dylan smiled back at him. Well, Annie squint-smiled, her sunhat not blocking as much of the bright July sun as she'd probably hoped, and Dylan's mouth hung open as he stared at the camera, Annie's oversized sunglasses even larger on his nine-month-old face. Finnick set it aside to show Annie later._

_By noon, the Annie pile had grown to include at least three dozen gems, and he still had a mountain of boxes left to go. When he found the remnants of a well-intentioned scrapbooking project, Finnick grinned. Perfect._

* * *

"That's my favorite." Maggie and Dylan chase after the bubbles Ronan blows for them. He can hear their giggles now just as clearly as he did twenty years ago. The minute he'd found it, tucked into the very last box, he knew it would have to go on the last page.

"I can see why." Annie smiles. "They look like they're having fun."

"They were. It took me forever to convince them to come inside that night."

"I'm sure you pressed really hard."

"Of course."

"Didn't accept any requests for five more minutes."

"That would have been irresponsible of me," he agrees.

She shifts in his arms. Now that he can't avoid her eyes, it's getting harder to maintain the innocent face he's spent years perfecting. "And you definitely didn't blow any bubbles for them after you said it was bedtime."

"Mrs. Odair, you are really very good at this guessing game."

Instead of the scolding he deserves, he gets a kiss on the cheek, which he considers a much better alternative. "Thank you. It's perfect." Another kiss, this time on the lips.

"Thank you for putting up with me for thirty years."

"It's been a chore." She jumps when his fingers find the ticklish spot on her side. "I mean, you're welcome, most wonderful and loving husband."

"That's better."

He earns another kiss on his cheek. "You know, Odair, you aren't too bad. I think we might just have to shoot for another thirty."

"I was thinking fifty."

"A hundred and three and a hundred and four?" A hundred and five, actually, but he's not going to correct her. "Hey, if you're up for it, I guess we can give it a go."

"I'm definitely up for it." He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes. "I might love you, but remember that you're still awful."

"I'll make a note of it."

**Author's Note:**

> Many of these chapters were inspired by prompts and suggestions received on Tumblr. All of these chapters were previously posted on Tumblr and FFN by me under the pen name finnicko-loves-anniec. Thank you very much for reading, and I would love to hear any feedback you have to offer.


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